In Search of Tranquility
by Argonaut57
Summary: Gold may have been driven out of Storybrooke, but Killian won't rest until he finds a way to draw the Crocodiles' teeth, permanently. A mysterious book tells him of a Rite of Tranqulity that will remove Rumplestiltskins' magic forever. But the secret of the Rite lies in another Realm. The war-torn Realm of Thedas
1. Chapter 1

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter One: The Portal**

 _The Fade is the Realm of benevolent spirits and malevolent demons. The former might aid a human lost in dreams or near death – both states which bring us close to the Fade – but otherwise have little to do with humans. The latter, however, desire the power human blood gives them, and the sustenance they derive from devouring our souls. So it is that demons gather wherever the Veil grows thin, either places of magic or humans who use the power._

 _"The Testament of Uldred"_

It had been a maxim of Killians' father that too much reading was no good thing. Knowledge, the old sea-dog had averred, complicated matters. "Learn what you need to get by, lads," he'd admonished his sons, "and trust your gut for the rest!"

Well, Killians' gut was in two minds about this. On the one hand, the idea of Captain Hook actively using magic, rather than 'borrowing' other peoples' went against all his experience. On the other, almost every instinct he had screamed at him that this was the right thing to do.

The Dark One might well have been driven out of Storybrooke by Belle. He might be exiled to the outer world, stripped of his magic and without resource. But Hook knew the Crocodile of old. He'd find a way back. Killian was determined that this time, he would be ready. To that end, he'd got into the habit of rummaging around Golds' shop. Gold often said he threw nothing away that might prove useful later, and he had spent many ages on his collection. Much of it was apparently worthless bric-a-brac – Rumplestiltskin was as much magpie as crocodile, it seemed – but there would be, Killian believed, a nugget or two somewhere among the dross.

He had come across the book only the other day. A heavy, leather-bound parchment volume, clearly of great age. It was called _The Testament of Uldred_ and purported to be the work of one Enchanter Uldred 'a Mage of the Circle of Ferelden', wherever or whatever that might be. Much of the book was impenetrable to Killian, but from the parts he understood, he gleaned five matters of importance.

The first was that magic came from _somewhere else_ , rather than, as he had always assumed, from within the user. There was, it appeared, a Realm known as the Fade, which touched all other Realms, but was separated from them by a Veil which only allowed passage in certain circumstances. Apparently, deep and clear dreaming took one into the Fade, as did a near-death experience. More importantly, in some way the mind of a magic-user was able to reach through the Veil and draw on the eldritch energies of the Fade – this was the source of magic, but every time a magician did this, the Veil around them was weakened a little more.

That in turn led to the third thing. The Fade was not uninhabited. Malignant beings – the book referred to them as 'demons' – lived in the Fade. Usually, they preyed upon each other, but the prey they desired most was human souls. They were drawn to practitioners of magic like ants to a picnic. Around every magic user, just beyond the Veil, lurked a horde of demons. Demons of Rage, Hunger, Sloth, Desire and Pride, each subtly prodding at that part of the magicians' psyche they were attuned to, all seeking passage to the material Realms.

That part Killian understood. In his experience, people who used magic tended, sooner or later, to fall into unpleasant ways. Even Emma Swan, the Saviour as they called her, had shown occasional flashes of darkness, quite apart from her normal cynicism. As for Regina, you could practically see the Rage demons floating around her. About the Crocodile, there was no doubt, it was only a matter of time before his personal Pride demon overcame him completely. If it hadn't already.

But the _Testament_ held an answer to that as well. The Mages of the Circle, it appeared, knew of a secret technique called 'The Rite of Tranquility'. Properly executed, this Rite severed a mages' connection to the Fade and stripped them permanently of magic. It was final and irreversible. The Circle used it as a way to prevent unsuitable individuals from practising magic.

Here was the answer Killian was looking for. Armed with this Rite, he could ensure that the inevitable return of the Crocodile to Storybrooke would be a short and final one. Even more, it would allow him to effectively settle the hash of any dark witch or wizard who might appear there in the future. And if necessary, that could include not only Regina, but Swan as well!

The problem was that the Circle held the secret in their Tower, which was in yet another Realm, the Realm of Thedas. But that was the fifth thing of importance. Only half the book was actually pages. The rest was a cunningly-designed hidden compartment containing two items. The first was an illustration of a pattern to be drawn in the earth with lines at least a quarter-inch deep. This pattern, referred to as a Glyph, would, once activated, open a passage through the Fade to Thedas and the Tower of Magi. The second item was a heavy glass flask containing a thick, faintly-glowing blue fluid. According to the instructions that accompanied the diagram, all that was needed was for the caster to draw the Glyph, then stand in the centre of it and pour the liquid, called lyrium, into the lines.

All of which was why he was here, at the spot where some months ago, Swan, Regina and Elsa of Arendelle had confronted the Snow Queen Ingrid, scratching lines in the ground with a pointed stick. The instructions had said to choose a place where the Veil might be thinner, and while that went for almost anywhere in Storybrooke, a lot of magic had been used here, and it was secluded.

Killian felt a little strange. Here he was, conducting a complex magical rite in a forest, on a bright spring day. This sort of thing normally called for midnight, a full moon and, as often as not, a howling gale. On the other hand, he was damned if he was going to try and draw this complicated bloody Glyph by moonlight! Sometimes, you had to sacrifice style for practicality.

The Glyph complete, Killian made sure of his sword and dagger, suppressed his trepidations and his prick of conscience at not leaving a note for Swan, and stepped into the centre of it. He uncorked the flask carefully. The instructions had been clear, lyrium was poisonous and unstable. It should not be opened until just before use and must not touch the skin. Killian gripped the base of the flask in his gloved hand and rested the neck in his hook. Despite its apparent thickness, the lyrium flowed freely and easily, spreading along the tiny channels he had dug, filling in the Glyph. Killian replaced the cork in the empty flask and stowed it in his pack – there might be traces left in there, and he didn't want to be responsible for poisoning anyone.

The glow of the lyrium intensified, turning from soft blue to intense white, and then a cloud of purple mist hung in front of him. As instructed, he stepped through. There was a slight resistance, like an abnormally tough spider-web, and he was through _ **.**_

It was daylight, but diffuse, coming from the whole sky, rather than a sun in it. He was in a shallow valley between rounded and oddly indefinite hills. There were trees – or stark, twisted things that might have been trees – dotted about and the yellowy brown stuff underfoot could be grass, or moss. At the other end of the valley was an pointed arch of wood or stone – he couldn't tell which – with the purple haze of another portal. So far, so good.

The only problem was the large black dog that sat in the path between him and his exit. The instructions had been very clear: pass through the Fade as quickly as possible and do _not_ interact with its denizens. Killian moved at a brisk but steady walk, carefully avoiding eye-contact with the dog and giving it a respectful berth as he passed it -fortunately the path was a wide one.

The dog, however, had other plans. As Killian came abreast of it, the animal got up and approached him. As it did, its' shape blurred and shifted into that of a tall man in worn robes. Killian stopped, keeping his hand near his dagger. The other man was holding a thin stick which could only be a magic wand. _Another bloody sorceror!_ Killian thought.

But the man didn't raise the wand. Instead, he came close to Killian, peering into his face as if studying him. Hook studied him back. A thin, haggard face, though the jaw was still firm and the eyes blazed fiercely, was framed in long dark hair shot with grey. After a moment, the man reached out and grasped Killians' arm, letting go immediately as if it burned him.

"You're here!" He blurted, in English with a British accent. "I mean really here, _physically_ here! I thought I was the only one! Who are you?"

"Killian Jones." Hook replied carefully.

"I'm Sirius Black." The man told him. "Are you a wizard? Did you create those portals?"

"No and yes." Killian knew he had to answer, but didn't want to give too much away.

Black frowned for a moment, then said; "Where did you come from? London? You sound English."

"Maine, in the US. Town called Storybrooke." Hook watched for a reaction, but got none.

"Never heard of it." Black noted. "But it's on Earth, right? I don't know how long I've been here, there's no way to count time. You don't eat, you don't sleep and the light never changes. What's the date where you came from?"

"April the eighth." Killian told him. "2015."

"Jupiter! Nearly ten years!" Black shook his head. Then he looked back up at Killian. "Right, you need to go where you're going. The longer you stay in the Fade, the more danger you're in. Most people who come here are disembodied spirits, easy prey for the demons. If you're physically here, you're more dangerous, but all that means is that the demons who come after you are the more powerful ones.

"It was good to meet you, Killian Jones."

With that, Black strode off toward the portal Killian had arrived through. Killian hesitated for a moment, but something told him that, whoever Black was, he'd do more good than harm in Storybrooke. He headed toward his destination.

He had entered the Fade on a bright spring day. He left it at the fag-end of an afternoon in what felt like late fall or early winter. There was a cold wind, but he could see fires dotted around. There was the smell of woodsmoke, the clink of metal, human voices and the barking of dogs. Then something heavy and powerful shot out of the shadows and knocked him to the ground.

He was pinned by a massive weight, and smelled dog. A lot of dog. A face was inches from his own. A blocky head like a mastiff, with powerful jaws and gleaming teeth. He heard a low, menacing growl, then oddly, the dog pulled back a little and put its head to one side. Killian met its eyes and saw there not savagery, but a great deal of intelligence. The eyes seemed to be asking _Are you going to play silly buggers, or be smart and lie still?_ Killian took the second option.

Then a rough male voice said, "All right, Redtooth, let him up, let's have a look at him!"

The dog moved off Killian, who got to his feet. Facing him was a stocky man wearing chainmail and a helmet made from reddish metal. He held a businesslike-looking sword pointing squarely at Killians' midsection.

"I can see you're armed, stranger, and you might be better with a sword than me. But my friend here can perforate you before we have time to find out!" The soldier told him.

His friend, Killian noted, was a tall, fair-haired woman wearing studded leather and holding a longbow, with an arrow nocked and pointed at Killian.

"I think we'll take these." The man said, stepping close and relieving Killian of his weapons and pack. He considered the hook, then said: "!'ll leave you that, but if you try anything funny, Redtooth there will likely remove the other hand for you. It's getting close to his dinner-time, and he ain't any too fussy when he's hungry."

Redtooths' answering growl, Killian felt, contained more grim humour than threat.

"Come on, stranger," his captor went on, "we'll see what Teyrn Loghain makes of you. Must be close to his dinner-time, too, so don't get your hopes up!"

Without being too obvious about it, Killian took as much of a look around as he could while being marched along. His captors walked behind him, and the swordsman managed to refrain from prodding Killian along with his weapon. The dog, on the other hand, paced him. It was a big brute, waist-high on Killian, with a heavy, muscular body supported on long, powerful legs. It was short-haired, a tan colour, but there were patterns traced on the fur in a red dye.

The place seemed to be some kind of ruin, being used as a military camp. Armed men and women were everywhere -there seemed to be no bias of gender, he saw men in leather armed with bows and daggers, and women in plate armour carrying massive two-handed swords. There were also a few people wandering around in robes. Some were clearly priestesses, from the reverence they were shown by the soldiers, but others, of both sexes and in different robes, were generally avoided.

They finally arrived at a large pavilion. Two armoured guards stood at the entrance, one looking royally bored, the other berating a small, slight figure in peasant clothing.

"...and get it right this time, idiot!" The guard snarled, before cuffing the lad around the head. "Now get going!"

"Yes, sir, right away, sir!" The boy yelped, and took off at a run, but not before Killian noted his pointed ears.

"Bloody Elves!" The guard scoffed. "Less brains than your mabari, Joachim!"

"Could say the same about you, Teg." Killians' captor replied.

The female archer spoke for the first time. "You wouldn't say that, Teg, if _you'd_ spent six months being run ragged around the Brecilian forest by the damned Dalish!"

"Oh, don't give Sara a chance to start on her forest yarns!" Joachim pleaded. "We got a prisoner here for the Teyrn. He awake?"

"You ever known him sleep?" Teg replied. "Go on in!"

Despite its size, the tent was sparsely, Spartanly furnished. In the centre was a table, at which a man was sitting, poring over a map, an empty plate and cup near his elbow.

"Six days." He was muttering. "Six days to get back, and in that time, they..."

"My Lord?" Joachim said.

The man, who Killian guessed must be Teyrn Loghain, looked up. He had a blunt, square face with a strong jaw. From under a heavy brow, cold grey eyes studied Killian, but there were dark circles under the eyes, and the face was pale. Killian put Loghains' age at close to sixty, but the thick hair was still jet black, worn long, with a thin braid hanging down each side of his face.

Loghain got to his feet. He was wearing heavy plate armour with the ease of long use, but was otherwise unarmed. He approached to just within arms' length then barked. "So what is this, Joachim?"

"Stranger in camp, my Lord." Joachim answered. "Found him on the southern side, nearest the Wilds. Wouldn't have got him at all, but Redtooth caught his scent."

"So," Loghain looked Killian up and down. "Spy or thief?"

"Neither." Killian told him. "Just a traveller, lost in the Wilds. I saw your camp and came here in the hope of a bed and a hot meal. I'm looking for the Tower of Magi."

Loghain gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well, that's a new one, I'll give you that! Unfortunately for you, the only travellers in the Korcari Wilds are Chasind barbarians, apostate mages and Chantry missionaries. You don't look like any of those to me!"

He turned back to his table, saying over his shoulder, "Take him out and hang him!"

"One moment, Loghain!" This was a new voice, younger but with the same confidence and authority. From the corner of his eye, Killian saw Joachim bow, as the newcomer advanced into the tent. Loghain had turned, and now the other man took his place beside him. This one was younger, fair-hared with an open, honest face, wearing gilded plate armour with a stylised dogs' head engraved on the breatplate.

"This is not your concern, Cailan." Loghain growled.

"Oh?" Cailan said quizzically. "A potential spy in the Kings' camp is no concern of the King? But leaving that aside, are you sure this man is a spy?"

"Spy or thief, he'd hang either way." Loghain pointed out.

Cailan shook his head. "You're too hasty, Loghain. Even a thief can wield a sword, and we've not so many men that another blade should be wasted. Given the choice between the gallows and a place in the army, I've found most thieves rediscover their loyalty to Ferelden.

"And if he is a spy, don't we need to know who he's working for?"

"Orlais, of course." Loghain snapped. "Who else?"

"To what end?" Cailan asked. "We've sent messages to the Empress and the Grey Wardens of Orlais, warning them about the Darkspawn. They know where we are and what we're doing, so why send a spy?"

"To make sure, of course!" Loghain told him. "To see if your army is really so far away from where it should be!"

"Loghain," Cailans' tone was that of a man exercising great patience with a respected but stubborn friend. "We've discussed this before. A horde of Darkspawn is gathering in the Wilds, a new Blight may be beginning. Where else should my army be?"

"The army of the King of Ferelden should be where it belongs!" Loghain said passionately. "Guarding the Orlesian border! A few Darkspawn raiders are a matter for the local Banns and the town militias. And do you think, Cailan, that even if this is a Blight – which I doubt – the Orlesians will hesitate to invade again, given the chance?"

"Enough!" Cailan snapped, in a tone of unmistakable command. "We will not restart this argument!" His voice softened, becoming almost humorous. "We have a guest to entertain, anyway." He addressed Killian directly. "Ho, stranger, where do you hail from?"

"The town of Storybrooke," Killian told him, "in the land of Maine, in the great Empire of America."

"Strange names." Cailan answered. "And your own name?"

"Captain Killian Jones." Hook replied.

"Equally strange. What do you say now, Loghain?" Cailan asked.

"I say this man is likely mad, Cailan." Loghain allowed. "I seem indeed to have been too hasty in my judgement. He is more in need of the Chantry, or the Mages, than the gallows."

"You may be right." Cailan agreed. "But let us see..." He came closer to Killian. "Your accent is strange, it is true. You are Human, not Elf, Dwarf or Qunari. You will pardon me, but you are not as groomed or fastidious as an Orlesian. That leather jacket and those boots might be Antivan, true, but you are no Crow, I think, to be captured so easily. As for those...leggings?...pantaloons? ...breeches? I have never seen their like before." He squatted down beside Killians' things, which Joachim had dumped on the floor.

"See here, Loghain, this blade." He was examining Killians' cutlass. "I've seen nothing like this. Curved, like a Dalish dar'misaan, but the hilt -see the knuckle guard? Unusual. The dagger is a dagger, workmanlike and plain. Still, it is not of Fereldan, Orlesian or even Dwarven make."

"The weapons might easily be Chasind, he came from the Wilds, after all." Loghain pointed out. "He could even be servant of the Darkspawn."

"A ghoul?" Cailan rose to hid full height. "Well, that is one thing we can easily test. Ho, guard! Ask Duncan to join us."

Killian was forced to fidget for a few minutes under Cailans' curious gaze and Loghains' contemptuous one -the older man had clearly decided he was quite mad. Then another man entered the tent, saying in a deep, rich voice, "You summoned me, your Majesty?"

"Indeed, Duncan." Cailan said. "The guards found this fellow wandering about the camp. We need to know if he is a Darkspawn spy."

The man called Duncan looked to be in his early fifties, dark-haired and bearded, both shot with silver. He had a weathered face with intense dark eyes, and was wearing a silvery breastplate over some type of robes. He gave Killian a measuring look.

"I sense no taint in him, Majesty." He said. "Yet I have seen no-one like him before. Where does he come from?"

"He claims to hail from the Empire of America, wherever that may be." Cailan said. "Loghain thinks he is mad, but I have my doubts."

"Indeed, Majesty." Duncan said gravely. "He does not strike me as mad. Why is he here at Ostagar?"

"He claims to be seeking the Tower of Magi." Loghain told him. "But that is several day's journey to the north-west of here. That said, this pass is the best way out of the Wilds, which is why this fortress was built in the first place.

"But none of this solves the problem of what to do with him. If there is such a place as the Empire of America, we would not wish to offend them unnecessarily. If there is not, it is neither safe nor fair to leave a madman wandering around the camp."

"I may have a solution, my lords." Duncan said. "I am still in need of recruits for the Grey Wardens. I have three likely ones preparing for the Joining as we speak, but we have enough of the potion for at least one more.

"If I invoke the Right of Conscription, you cannot be blamed for anything that happens subsequently. If this man has indeed travelled alone through the Wilds, he will be a worthy addition to our number. If he is a fraud or a madman, he will not survive the Joining."

"Do I get a say in this?" Killian asked.

"Unfortunately not, friend." Cailan told him. "The Right of Conscription allows the Wardens to take anyone they choose. Even I cannot prevent it.

"You should think of it as an honour, Killian Jones of Storybrooke!"

 _Think of it as an honour._ Killian brooded as he walked through the camp beside Duncan. _Something that might be a death sentence or conscription into...what?_ He considered his options. They'd given him his weapons back, but he didn't fancy fighting his way out through an army, and given the calibre of the dog he'd already encountered, trying to sneak out probably wouldn't get him far. Go with it for now, then. He turned to Duncan.

"So, do you mind telling me what the Grey Wardens are, before I join them?" He asked.

"I take it you have no Grey Wardens in your Empire of America?" Duncan asked. Killian shook his head, Duncan went on. "That does not surprise me. The Grey Wardens hold no fealty to any one nation, and had there been Wardens in your homeland, I would have known about them and it. If there are no Wardens there, can I assume there are no Darkspawn, either?"

"We have a Dark One," Killian told him, "and what we call dark witches and sorcerors, but no Darkspawn that I know of."

"You are a fortunate people." Duncan replied. "There is no time now, Killian Jones, to tell you the full tale. For now, let this suffice. The Darkspawn are a product of ancient evil – vicious, relentless and cunning. They seek only destruction and death. For the most part, they dwell underground in the Deep Roads, but from time to time, they break out to the surface, either in small bands or larger armies, causing havoc. But at least four times in the past, a greater horde has arisen, under the leadership of an Archdemon, and sought to sweep across the whole of Thedas. This we call a Blight, and in the past they have sometimes brought all races to the edge of extinction.

"We Grey Wardens are an order drawn from all races – Humans, Elves and Dwarves – and embracing all callings. We include warriors, rangers, Mages and even assassins and thieves among our numbers. We exist for one purpose – to watch for Darkspawn and defend against them. When necessary, as now, we call on the aid of Kings and others to reinforce our small numbers.

"A horde of Darkspawn now gathers in the Korcari Wilds, ready to sweep north into Ferelden and beyond. This fortress, Ostagar, was built centuries ago to defend against invading Chasind barbarians, and guards the only pass into Ferelden large enough for an army. This is why King Cailan has brought his army here, and this is why the Grey Wardens are here.

"Let me be clear, Killian Jones, there is no turning back for you now. Either you will become a Grey Warden, or you will die. Whatever it was you sought before must be put aside until the Darkspawn are defeated."

"And after that?" Killian asked.

Duncan shrugged. "After that, the choice is yours. But I warn you, the Joining will change you. Whatever path you pursue, you will always be a Grey Warden."

 _I'll take my chances_. Killian thought, but said nothing.

By now they had arrived at an area off to one side of the camp. It seemed to be the remains of an ancient temple of some kind. Four men were clustered near a table that had been set up near a pillared wall. As they came closer, Killian saw that on the table were four flasks of some dark liquid and a large silver chalice.

"Before we begin, gentlemen, I must introduce our latest recruit. This is Captain Killian Jones, of the Empire of America, who has made his way here from a distant land, through the Wilds, alone. A man of such resource and hardiness will be, I am sure, an asset to the order.

"Captain Jones, this is Alistair, the junior Grey Warden here." A young man in splint mail armour, with a shock of fair hair and a pleasant, open face that was somehow familiar. He greeted Killian with an affable smile and a measuring stare. Duncan went on.

"These are your fellow recruits. Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe," a well-built fellow in his thirties with a round face, a scrubby beard and a receding hairline, wearing chainmail and carrying a two-handed sword, "Daveth of Denerim," slim, wiry, dark, with a sharp face and restless eyes, dressed in studded leather and carrying a longbow, "and Cormac of Highever." Another well-built lad, dark hair tied back, a neatly-trimmed beard and clear eyes that held a trace of sadness. He was clad in an odd mix of scale mail and studded leather, and also carried a two-handed sword.

"At last, we come to the Joining." Duncan said solemnly. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when Humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

"You mean," Ser Jory interrupted, pale-faced, "we're going to drink the blood of those...those creatures?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you." Duncan assured him. "This is the source of our power and our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint." Alistair explained. "We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to destroy the Archdemon."

"We speak only a few words before the Joining," Duncan told them, "but those words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair drew himself up, bowed his head and spoke solemnly and clearly. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And know that, should you perish, your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we will join you."

Duncan poured the contents of one of the flasks into the chalice, then picked it up and turned.

"Daveth, step forward." He said.

The wiry fellow took the proffered chalice, and a deep breath, then drank. As Duncan took the chalice from him, Daveth began to choke, clutching at this throat. Then he began to scream, or try to, he bent double, then sank to his knees.

"Makers' breath!" Jory hissed, as Daveth slumped forward to lie prone.

"I am sorry, Daveth." Duncan said sadly, as the dying man gave one final twitch, then lay still. With a sigh, he turned and refilled the chalice.

"Step forward, Jory." He said.

A look of panic spread over Jorys' face. "But I have a wife, a child!" He cried, drawing his sword. "Had I but known...!"

Duncan set the chalice down and drew a long, curved knife. "There is no turning back!" He said sternly.

"No!" Jory shouted. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!"

He made a wild, one-handed swing at Duncan, seemingly reluctant to use a true, killing stroke. Duncan showed no such qualms, knocking the heavy blade aside with his knife, stepping in close and stabbing Jory in the side, just where the mail shirt and chausses met. Ser Jory gasped, almost in disbelief. Duncan reached out with his other hand and drew the younger man close, as if embracing him. "I am sorry." He said again, then pulled his blade clear and let the knight fall to lie dead in his own blood.

Duncan stared down at him for a moment, then tossed the dagger aside angrily. For a moment, Killian saw disappointment, sorrow and bitterness mingle on the mans' face, then iron control settled again. Duncan took up the chalice and held it out to Cormac.

"But the Joining is not yet complete." He said. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

With only a tiny hesitation, Cormac accepted the chalice and drank. Duncan took it from him, saying, "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

Cormac choked a little, just as Daveth had, but then things rook a different turn. The young man clapped a hand to his head and gave a deep groan, before collapsing to the ground and lying still.

The two Grey Wardens watched him for a moment, then Alistair said. "He did it! He mastered the taint!"

Duncan nodded. "So it seems. It will be some hours before he wakes, as it was with you." He filled the chalice one last time, and approached Killian.

"So we come to the point, Killian Jones. Will you attempt the Joining of your own free will? I do not wish to stain my blade with the blood of another recruit today."

Many called Captain Hook a villain, but the fact was that Killian, at base, suffered from an acute case of decency. When he reached out to take the chalice, he was thinking less of his own life than the look of conflicting hope and despair in Duncans' eyes.

Still, he was not about to let this go without at least one attempt at a good line.

"If either of those other two blokes had anything catching..." He said.

Alistair laughed, abruptly, nervously. Duncans' smile held more of approval than amusement. "That is the least of your worries, Killian." He said gently.

Throwing caution to the winds, Killian drank. The stuff was vile – but he'd expected that. The salt-iron tang of blood was something he'd experienced before, but there was something else. A fierce undertone of decay, of a rot that seemed as much moral as physical. He choked, the stuff burned as it went down, but oddly, his stomach didn't rebel. Sharp, agonising pains racked his body before centring in his head. A grey mist covered his eyes, then gave way to a green sky, against which loomed the form of a huge dragon. The dragon seemed to be aware of him, stretching down to bring one dark, fierce eye close to him. It growled, and for a moment Killian thought he heard words, harsh, alien words, in the sound.

Then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Two: The Tower**

" _In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice."_

 _Motto of the Grey Wardens_

Killian became aware that he was lying on cold stone. He felt refreshed, but at the same time, battered and aching. He opened his eyes to see Alistair leaning over him.

"You're awake." The young man said in a relieved tone. "You made it. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck!" Killian said without thinking. He made to get up, and Alistair helped him rise, asking "What's a truck?"

Killian thought fast this time. "It's a big, heavy wagon we use at home to transport goods over long distances. They're drawn by truckers – half-wild beasts with enormous appetites, uncertain tempers and questionable eyesight."

"And people often get run over by them?" Alistair asked, in a tone that implied that he knew Killian was having him on, but was going to go with it anyway.

"All the time," Killian told him, "especially after a good night out!"

Duncan came over, trailed by Cormac. The young swordsman gave Killian a wry grin that said _what have we let ourselves in for?_

"It is good to see you awake, Killian." Duncan said. "I confess I had been unsure of you at so short an acquaintance. I need not have worried."

"In my Joining, only one of us died," Alistair said, "but it was...horrible. I'm glad you both made it. Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the Darkspawn, as we all do." Duncan said. "That and much more can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget," said Alistair, "there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us of...those who didn't make it this far."

Killian took the pendant and glanced at it. A small metal phial on a sturdy chain, with the image of a griffon engraved on it.

"Take some time, both of you." Duncan instructed. "When you feel ready, you, Cormac, have been asked to attend a meeting with the King and myself. The meeting is at the bottom of the stairs, to the west. Killian, if you would join Alistair at the Grey Warden tents in the centre of the camp?"

Duncan and Alistair left. Cormac and Killian weighed each other up for a moment, then Cormac put out a hand.

"We haven't been properly introduced. I am Cormac Cousland, of the Couslands of Highever."

Killian took the hand. "Captain Killian Jones, of the ship _Jolly Roger_."

"Well met!" Cormac said. "I thought you might be a sea-faring man. No landsman has quite that roll in their stride. Come!"

He led Killian over to a pile of gear that lay close by. Sitting over it, apparently on guard, was another dog of the same breed as Redtooth. Killian eyed the animal respectfully. The dog looked back curiously, then put his head on one side and whined softly.

"Oh, don't mind Rufus!" Cormac said. "He won't hurt anyone he knows is a friend, but you'll hurt his feelings if he thinks you're scared of him."

"I've never seen a dog like that before." Killian confessed.

"You wouldn't have." Cormac noted. "There aren't many mabari hounds outside Ferelden. Cleverest dogs in the world – intelligent enough to talk and wise enough not to say anything is what they say about them. Rufus and I have been together since he was a pup and I was a nipper. He's a war-dog, mind, so don't take too many liberties.

"Now, what do we have here?"

With a shock, Killian realised that these were the effects of Ser Jory and Daveth, the two dead recruits. Cormac seemed to realise what he was thinking, and explained.

"Jory and Daveth were taken by the other Wardens to be cremated honourably." He said. "But all their gear is now property of the Grey Wardens. The order isn't wealthy, so nothing gets wasted. As new recruits, we get the pick of the gear and the right to sell anything we don't want."

He pulled out the chain mail Jory had been wearing and casually began to strip off his own mismatched gear. "This is good quality armour," he remarked, "and I only just escaped from the castle with what I could scrounge up."

"Escaped?" Killian asked.

"Long story." Cormac said. "I don't want to talk about it yet, it's too soon and we've a lot to do. But if you don't mind me saying, your gear might be all right for travelling – light and comfortable – but there's going to be a full-on battle here by the end of the day, so you'll want something sturdier. Also, that sword of yours may be good for a boarding action, but not against heavily armoured Darkspawn."

Killian had no taste for heavy metal armour, but he acknowledged the sense of what Cormac was saying. He was a pirate, after all, and not really squeamish about looted gear. Daveths' outfit was composed of good quality cured hide, embossed with iron studs, and comprised body armour, leggings, boots and gauntlets.

As he dressed, he studied Cormac. The lad couldn't be more than twenty or so, but he carried himself with assurance. His manner was courteous, but also authoritative. _A nobleman_ , Killian judged. _Or a natural leader. Or both._

Cormac made up a bundle of the gear they didn't want, adding several items from his pack. "We were out in the Wilds yesterday, getting Darkspawn blood for the Joining." He explained. "And we picked up some odds and ends along the way. Now, I've got an errand to the Kennel-Master, and after that, we'll see what the Quartermaster can find for us."

He led Killian down to the main part of the camp, where he went off to speak to the Kennel-Master, leaving Killian waiting by their bundle of spoils. Nearby, some kind of stage had been erected, and several soldiers were either standing or kneeling before it. On the stage, a woman wearing orange and cream robes seemed to be preaching.

"Men and women of Ferelden!" She was saying. "We stand in the shadow of the coming battle as children and servants of the Maker. We go forth in His name to fight the Darkspawn. Remember as you prepare, that the dark mages of the Tevinter Imperium were the ones who brought this curse upon us. Those same mage-lords who burned the prophet Andraste, Beloved of the Maker, in Minrathous. Remember that it was these actions of men that caused the Maker to turn His gaze from His children.

"Know then, that each blow you strike today, is a blow that may bring nearer the time when the Maker will once again smile upon us all. Keep the Chant in your hearts and on your lips, warriors, so that should you fall, Andraste will intercede with the Maker, and He will receive you into His peace and love!"

God-botherers, Killian decided, were the same in every Realm. He honestly could not see that woman suiting up and heading out into battle herself – she was just a little too well-groomed -but she had no compunctions about telling fairy tales to those about to get covered in mud, blood and worse.

"You have the Chantry in your land?" Cormac asked, coming up.

Killian shook his head. "No, But we do have assorted churches who peddle the same kind of thing. Personally, I have my doubts about them. You?"

"I believe in the Maker," Cormac said, "and I've studied the Chant of Light as well as I could – I'm no scholar – and believe Andraste was indeed a prophet. But the Chantry itself? Mother Mallol, the priest who served in our chapel at Highever, was a good, sincere woman who cared for all of us; the family, the knights and squires, the men at arms and even the Elvish servants. Some of the other priests, however...let's just say that humility is not their strong point.

"But look here, the Kennel-Master gave me twenty silvers for a herb I found in the Wilds. Apparently it can cure hounds poisoned by Darkspawn blood. I hated to take his money, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. Let's go to the Quartermaster."

The Quartermaster went through their collection of gear with a shrewd but not unkindly eye, noting that some of the more esoteric items -a very heavy and excessively spiky mace, for instance – would go down well with some 'special' customers. In the end, they made enough to equip both of them with suitable headgear, and look for a weapon for Killian.

"I take it you're a swordsman?" Cormac remarked. "Or would you prefer an axe? All due respect, but you don't look quite heavy or tall enough to be a mace-man, and of course, two-handed weapons are out of the question."

"A sword is good." Killian told him, and picked out a plain but well-made one.

"Grey iron," Cormac noted with approval. "Not as good as steel, but a good choice. Pity you can't use a shield, or can you?"

Killian allowed Cormac to inspect his hook more closely. "This serves me for both shield and weapon, I'm used to fighting with it. I could use a buckler if it was strapped to my arm, but this works better for me."

Cormac also insisted that Killian purchase a pack – one rather larger and sturdier than the day-sack he'd brought with him – which they proceeded to stock with twice-baked bread, dried meat and fruit, healing potions and some kind of basic medical kit.

"In the field, never let your pack out of your sight!" Cormac told him. "You need to fight wearing it, if you have to. Father..." He hesitated, his eyes suddenly full of pain, then swallowed and went on. "Father taught me that.

"Now look, we still have two sovereigns, ten silvers and six copper bits left. We'll split them."

"Are you sure?" Killian asked. "I may not be able to repay you, you know."

"Nonsense!" Coramc said. "We're both Grey Wardens and if this money belongs to anyone it belongs to the order. Take it, if we get separated I'd hate to think I'd left you with no way to buy supplies!

"Now I've got to go to this meeting, and you'd better go and wait with Alistair. Keep him out of trouble."

" _I'm_ supposed to keep _him_ out of trouble?" Killian asked.

Cormac laughed. "When I first met Alistair, he was in the middle of an argument with a mage. He tends to speak first and think afterwards, and not everyone appreciates his sense of humour. I'm counting on you to make sure nobody stabs him, strangles him or turns him into a frog before Duncan and I get back."

"Fair enough." Killian said. Cormac clapped him on the back and they parted ways. _Only just initiated and already taking charge._ Killian thought. _That lad will go far, if somebody doesn't kill him first._

He made his way to the centre of the camp, where the Grey Wardens had their tents and a large, well-maintained, fire. As he came closer, he saw Alistair seated on a log near the blaze. The younger man looked up, saw him and beckoned him over. As Killian approached and sat down, Alistair ladled a bowlful of stew from a cauldron nearby and handed it to him.

"It's mutton, I afraid," Alistair said, "but even that's better than field rations."

"It's hot and thick, and that'll do for me." Killian replied, digging in gratefully.

"That's funny, I heard one of the female soldiers say the same thing yesterday." Alistair remarked. "Odd thing is, I had the feeling she was talking about me!"

Killian nearly choked. "You, my friend," he managed, "are somewhat deranged!"

"So people tell me." Alistair replied. He took another spoonful of stew and chewed reflectively. "Mutton. We used to get a lot of that at the monastery I grew up in."

"You're an orphan then?" Killian drew the obvious conclusion.

"Yes and no." Alistair replied. "My mother was a servant at Redcliffe Castle. My father...chose to remain anonymous. Mother died when I was very young, but Arl Eamon kept a roof over my head and made sure I was looked after. But then, of course, the gossip started, that I was the Arls' bastard. I wasn't, and the Arl didn't care, but the Arlessa..."

"I think I see where this is going." Killian put in.

Alistair nodded. "Lady Isolde is much younger than her husband, and she's Orlesian. They go in for intrigue more than we Fereldans do, and she saw me as a threat to any children she might have with the Arl. She thought that when the time came, the Landsmeet might prefer a full-blooded Fereldan bastard to a half-Orlesian heir, however legitimate. So, at age ten, off I was packed to the nearest monastery."

"They meant to make a priest of you?" Killian asked.

Alistair laughed. "You do come from far away, don't you? Chantry priests are women, probably because Andraste Herself was a woman. Men in the Chantry can be lay brothers, scholars or sometimes Chanters, but not priests. But the Chantry has another use for strong, feisty lads, and I was trained to become a Templar."

"Ah!" Killian was glad to find something familiar. "We used to have Templars where I came from. Knights who guarded the roads for pilgrims travelling to sacred sites, and fought for the church."

"Well, the Templars here do some of that." Alistair allowed. "But what they mostly do is guard mages. And by 'guard' I mean keep an eye on them. You see, the Chantry despises mages. The Tevinter Imperium Andraste fought against and was killed by was ruled by mages, after all. Well, kings, nobles and even ordinary folk have a lot of uses for magic, otherwise the Chantry would just have all mages killed as soon as they showed signs.

"So instead, the Chantry keeps a close watch on all mages, forcing them to join the Circle. The Templars watch them constantly for signs of demonic possession, or dabbling in blood magic. They also hunt down apostates – mages who run from or refuse to join the Circle. To do that, Templars have to be trained in special skills that allow them to resist or counter magic..."

Alistair was interrupted by the arrival of two people, who emerged from separate tents.

"Hello, you two!" He said. "I thought you'd be with the troops by now!"

One of the figures, a woman, shook her head and spoke in a low, musical voice. "We're moving out with the Kings' Guard shortly. Is this our newest member?"

"One of them." Alistair confirmed. "This is Killian Jones, from the Empire of America, far, far away. Killian, these are Elana and Hendel, two Wardens who were Joined the same time as me."

Elana stepped into the firelight. She was short, and slightly-built, dressed in leather decorated with painted vine and leaf patterns and carrying a longbow apparently taller than herself. But her face was remarkable; pale-skinned, with large, almond-shaped, slightly-slanted eyes of a brilliant green. The jaw was narrow, the chin almost pointed and she had a mane of chestnut hair which did not quite conceal the pointed ears. Oddest of all were the fine, tattooed lines that traced a complex pattern across her forehead and down her cheeks.

" _Adaran atishan_ , Killian Jones." She said. "Welcome to the order."

"Thank you." He replied. "Pardon both my ignorance and my curiosity, I've seen several Elves today, but you're the only one that's been armed."

"City Elves." She said with a mix of contempt and pity. "I am Dalish, of the free Elvenhan, who follow the old ways. There are city Elves under arms, but they are with the common soldiers in the main camp over yonder."

"If I may ask, how do you tell the difference?" Killian asked. "I wouldn't want to insult or offend anyone."

Elana laughed and pointed to her face. "City Elves follow the teachings of your Chantry. They do not mark their faces, as we do, to honour the Creators. And I do pardon both your ignorance and curiosity, but only because you are quite handsome, for a _shem_."

Killian gave her a mocking bow and turned to Hendel. This was clearly a Dwarf. Half Killians' height, but half again as wide, with a blunt, swarthy face mostly covered with a thick, long, elaborately plaited, reddish beard. He was clad in heavy plate armour and carried a metal kite shield and a useful-looking war-axe. His voice was a surprising light baritone.

" _Atras vala_ , friend." He said. "I would stay to talk longer, but we must be on our way. Perhaps we will talk, and drink, together after the battle. May the ancestors watch over you and the Stone receive you if you fall."

The oddly-assorted pair moved off, saluting Duncan and Cormac as they passed them.

"Finally!" Alistair exclaimed. "I was worried we were going to miss the battle!"

"I can't believe they're keeping us out of the battle!" Alistair grumbled. "Come on! We've got to get across the bridge to the Tower of Ishal!"

That was going to be less easy than it sounded. Killian and Cormac exchanged a glance. The battle sounded as if it had been joined in earnest below, and it seemed the Darkspawn had more resources than simple savagery and numbers. From somewhere in the forest, massive trebuchets had begun to fling flaming missiles at the fortress. The bridge they were about to cross was a wide, graceful and well-built stone one, but because of that it had numerous archery posts and ballistae placed along it, and the trebuchets were obviously aiming at these.

The strategy was simple; King Cailan would lead a force forward to draw the Darkspawn out. Once the horde was fully committed, a signal beacon would be lit in the Tower of Ishal, summoning a larger force led by Loghain to attack the Darkspawn flank. There were men stationed at the Tower to light the beacon, but Cailan had insisted that Alistair lead the two new Grey Wardens to the Tower to oversee this simple but vital task.

However, nobody had mentioned dodging fireballs, flying rubble and the occasional detached limb! By the time they got to the foot of the ramp leading to the Tower, they were covered in dust, more than a little scorched and somewhat bloodied. Even Rufus was looking a little fed up! Then two men came dashing down the ramp. Killian had the feeling they were about to make his day complete. He wasn't wrong.

The man in the lead was obviously a soldier, and equally obviously scared and shocked. "Are you Grey Wardens?" He demanded. "We need help. The Towers' been taken!"

"Taken?" Alistair asked. "What do you mean? Taken how?"

"The Darkspawn!" The soldier panted. "They came up from underground. Most of our men are dead!"

"Then we need to get to the top of the Tower and light the beacon ourselves!" Alistair stated, drawing his sword.

"Let's get this done!" Cormac said grimly, unlimbering his heavy greatsword. Killian pulled out his own new weapon, testing the balance one final time.

"One moment." Said the man who had followed the soldier down the ramp. Killian realised he was wearing robes and carrying a staff. The mage muttered some words and gestured with his staff. At once, all their blades burst into flame. Killian could feel the heat on his face, but not in the hand that held the weapon. With a start, he realised his hook was also ablaze.

The mage had the thin, pale, earnest face of a scholar, but the grin on it now came straight from a wolf. "A little extra treat for the Darkspawn!" He said.

With that, they charged up the ramp, and Killian found out what it meant to be a Grey Warden. He sensed them before he saw them. With a sense that wasn't smell , but felt like it, he was almost choked with the odour of decay – the same moral, spiritual rot he'd tasted in the Darkspawn blood at the Joining. Then he saw them. They were bad enough with ordinary sight, grotesque travesties of humanity with slick, scaly, hairless skin, noseless faces with fang-filled maws and fathomless black eyes. But there was another dimension to his sight now. He could see the darkness that clung to them, seeming at once to empower and imprison them, like the strings of some unthinkable puppeteer giving the illusion of life but controlling everything.

The Darkspawn were engaged with the remaining few guards, but seemed to sense the Wardens even as the Wardens sensed them. They broke off and charged this more dangerous foe with reckless hate.

The one Killian faced was as tall as he, wearing crudely-forged but effective armour and wielding a heavy curved blade. Killian parried with his own sword, stepped in and sank his hook into the side of the beasts' head. The magical flames spread across the flesh as if it were dry tinder. Killian twisted and wrenched, ripping off half the face as the Darkspawn staggered and fell, twitching in death. Then, for the first time in a long time, Killian jones was gone, and there was only Captain Hook.

"Blast your eyes, you motherless sons of pestilence!" He roared. "I'll flay the flesh from you and feed it to the sharks, drop your bones in Davey Jones' Locker and send your shivering souls to Old Nick! Come and taste it, swabs!"

The six of them stormed toward the Tower, cutting down Darkspawn as they went. Up two more ramps to a courtyard in front of the great doors. Killian disposed of his last opponent and had time to observe his allies in action.

Alistair fought with sword and shield. Unlike many such fighters Killian had seen, he used his shield as much for attack as defence, slamming it into his opponents with all the weight and power of his burly body behind it, knocking them flat as often as not. The shield was wooden, but the metal rim around it seemed to be honed to a killing edge, so that if swung in a certain way, it could slice open a mans' throat.

Cormac fought with deliberation. Killian had never seen a two-handed sword wielded so scientifically. There was no brutal slashing here, but controlled, sweeping cuts and wide, circling swings that crashed into an enemy's weapon, knocking it aside and numbing the wielders' arms. Sometimes, Cormac would abruptly reverse the weapon, smashing the pommel into the foes' face to knock them back or down.

The soldier fought with a courage born of desperation, in the same style as Alistair, but without as much skill. The mage kept out of the melee -sensible given that he wore only heavy silk robes – but he kept up a constant stream of magical bolts that seemed to drain their targets of energy, varying this with gouts of searing flame, or occasionally coating an enemy in inches-thick ice.

Rufus, the mabari hound, was every bit as formidable as his master. The sorcerous flames licking across his coat made his appearance even more threatening. He would run silent until almost upon a foe, then deliver a boneshaking growl that appeared to paralyse the Darkspawn with fear. Then he would spring, pinning them down with his massive weight and using his powerful jaws to tear off limbs or rip open throats. Occasionally, Rufus would unleash a deep-toned howl as terrifying as the wail of the Banshee!

 _As fine a crew as I ever fought with._ Hook allowed.

With barely a pause, Alistair and Cormac applied a brawny shoulder each to the big double doors. They opened easily enough and Hook, backed by the other soldier, the mage and Rufus, darted through. The small anteroom was empty, but they found out why quickly enough. The large hall beyond was partially blocked off by a ramshackle but sturdy barricade, lined with Darkspawn archers. There was a gap in the barricade, true, but it was meant to funnel attackers into the waiting blades of more Darkspawn. Just to make life more interesting, there was grease on the floor and a tripwire that no doubt set off something unpleasant.

Killian dealt with the wire first, deftly slipping it from the peg without triggering it. Then he led the others at a crouching run around the inside of the barricade. This puzzled the Darkspawn, as it effectively meant that their own barrier was protecting the attackers from arrows. This route also avoided the grease, which was spread on the middle of the floor. Finally, one of the Darkspawn had the bright idea of lobbing a lit torch into the grease. That might have made things nasty if the mage had not frozen the thing just as it landed.

It seemed that the average Darkspawn was not overly intelligent, so that by the time the attackers reached the breach in the barricade, they were still trying to decide what to do. Not that this made the ensuing brawl by any means easy – just not as hard as it might have been.

After the hall came a barracks, then an office with a large hole in the floor – clearly this was where the Darkspawn had come in – and a guard-room containing the stairs to the next level. And more Darkspawn, of course. Killian noticed that his companions had no more compunction than he about catching up any small, useful articles the dead let drop, or emptying any crates, boxes or unlocked chests that were lying about.

As they climbed the stairs, he heard Alistair say; "How did these Darkspawn get here ahead of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

"Weren't you complaining that you wouldn't get to fight?" Cormac asked dryly.

"Hey, you're right!" Alistair chuckled. "I guess there is a silver lining to this after all. But we need to get to the top of the Tower and light the signal, or Teyrn Loghains' men won't know when to charge."

The next floor was mostly taken up by what appeared to be workshops, including a large hall given over to the maintenance of siege engines. Every room had its quota of Darkspawn, though whether they were there to guard, loot or simply wreck everything, Killian could not quite make out.

Up the next set of stairs into a training room followed by, of all things, a kennels! These Fereldans clearly valued their dogs as much as their men. The room held half-a-dozen cages in which angry mabari growled, barked and howled at the Darkspawn who mocked them without ever coming within reach of them. Killian spotted a large lever among the cages and, guessing at its function, slipped round the edge of the melee to operate it. This had the desired effect, opening the cages to unleash the furious hounds onto the backs of their erstwhile tormentors.

More barracks, then officers' quarters, a small armoury and a final guard-room. They took a moment to shake the blood from their weapons and make any necessary adjustments, then without a word, they went up to the final level.

Here, they faced only a single opponent, but in this case, one was more than enough! The brute was twice the height of a man, and proportionately as broad as a Dwarf. Great, twisted horns grew from its head, and it had an ape-like face with fanged, slavering jaws.

"Makers' Breath!" Alistair hissed. "An ogre!"

The ogre roared at them, then advanced, moving quickly for all its' size. The party obeyed Cormac's wordless gesture without question, spreading out to surround the beast.

For all its' size and power, the ogre seemed to have few brains. Like wolves around a bison, the men harried and harassed it. Wherever it turned, there was always someone to strike at the flank or rear. The mage patrolled the edge of the room. The man looked on the verge of exhaustion, but still kept up a steady stream of spells.

Not that the ogre was going to go down easy. Pain seemed to enrage it rather than cow it, but the wounds the party inflicted bled freely, and the loss began to tell. Then Killian saw his chance. The ogre had made to attack him, but suddenly seemed to suffer a wave of weakness, swaying on its feet and almost bowing to him.

Killian leapt, sinking his still-flaming hook into the beasts' collar-bone. The ogre bellowed and straightened, yanking Killian with it. He braced his feet on its chest and used his sword like a dagger, thrusting down at the base of the neck and into the chest, twisting and probing for something vital. The ogre roared again, but the roar ended in a gurgle and a gout of blood. It swayed again, and Alistair rammed it with his shield, sending it toppling backwards with Killian on top, still pushing on the sword with all his weight. The Darkspawn coughed up more blood, convulsed, then lay still.

Killian pulled his sword and hook clear, then slid off the body, wiping gore from his face – he was covered in it.

"That," Alistair said admiringly, "is a _lot_ of blood!"

"You think?" Killian replied.

Cormac clapped him on the back, then said, "Let's get this beacon lit!"

The fire, once lit, burned far more brightly than its size promised. _Magic,_ Killian assumed. The party began to search the chamber, looking for useful items and signs of life among the bodies -both Human and Darkspawn -that were scattered around.

Then the door crashed open and literally hundreds of Darkspawn surged through. Killian saw the mage, swinging his staff defiantly, hacked to pieces. The guardsman went down under a swarm of opponents. He moved to stand with his fellow Grey Wardens, only to see a storm of arrows coming at them. He felt at least four hit, but as he fell he thought he heard the Darkspawn yells change to screams, and had the fleeting impression of a great, winged shadow at one of the tower windows.

Then for a while, there was nothing but pain and red darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Three: Treason**

" _How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!"_

 _Loghain mac Tir_

Killian worked his way up through layers of blackness, shedding the pain as he did so. How long it took, he had no idea, but eventually he realised he was looking at daylight through his own eyelids. A long career on the wrong side of the law had taught him caution, so he lay still and tried to assess his position with his other senses.

Himself first, then. He was no longer in pain -that was good. Nor was he tired any more. He was, however, very hungry. All good signs, he supposed. Now, where was he?

On a bed, not a stone floor or the ground. The mattress was thin, but not as thin as a prisoners' pallet, and whatever it was stuffed with was fresh. There was a pillow under his head, and someone had taken the trouble to scatter sweet herbs among the stuffing of that. The blanket over him was rough, but clean.

From the lack of any sound of flapping canvas, he gathered he was in a building, rather than a tent. There was a smell of woodsmoke, and more herbs. Nearby was the quiet breathing of another sleeper, but there was someone else moving about the room. A light, quick step – either a woman or an Elf. Then whoever it was came and stood beside the bed. A rustle of fabric and a deep, musky perfume over clean skin and hair. Definitely a woman.

"So, you are more cautious and cunning than your fellow Wardens." She remarked in a clear alto. "'Twas some time before I recognised the change in your breathing. I am impressed."

 _Rumbled,_ Killian thought, then opened his eyes and sat up. The woman, or girl – she could not be more than nineteen – standing beside the bed was tall and well-formed, with raven hair, a strong-boned face and strange golden eyes. There was something contradictory about her: the expression of her eyes and the set of her mouth spoke of experience and cynicism, but the clothes she wore said something else. They were clearly a stitched together rag-tag of found or stolen items, but put together in a way that showed more than a little flawless skin whilst – just- preserving essential modesty. The bunches of feathers, strips of leather and pretty, polished stones that decorated the outfit, along with the amateurish attempt to style the hair, spoke to a kind of innocent yearning for sophistication and allure.

"You know I'm a Grey Warden?" He asked without preamble.

The girl shrugged. "You wear the Wardens' Oath." She replied, indicating the pendant he had been given at his Joining. "But that apart, Mother knows a Warden when she sees one. 'Twas she who rescued you and the other two from the Tower of Ishal. Do you not remember?"

"I was out cold, don't remember a damned thing after those arrows hit." Killian told her. "I'm Killian Jones, by the way."

"And I am Morrigan." The girl replied. "You were not with the others when they came into the Wilds before."

"I got here late." Killian said. "Where are the others?"

"The handsome one, Cormac, is there." Morrigan indicated a bed nearby, in which the young warrior indeed lay deeply asleep. "He was more badly wounded than you, and 'tis likely he will sleep an hour or two more. T'other is outside by the fire, with Mother. She will wish to speak with you."

Killian nodded and swung himself out of bed. His clothing and gear were stacked neatly beside it, and he began to dress, noting that the armour had been repaired and cleaned. He glanced up and saw Morrigan studying his body with frank interest, but when he caught her eye she had the grace to blush a little.

"Do you know what happened at Ostagar?" He asked.

Morrigan shrugged. "There was some kind of betrayal. When you lit your beacon, the man who was to respond withdrew his troops. The Darkspawn massacred those left behind. Mother was hard-put to rescue you and your companions, the others she could not help."

 _Damn!_ Killian thought. _Someone will pay for this!_ Then he remembered why he was here. Perhaps this had nothing to do with him. Then again, he'd been left to die, so why wouldn't he be angry? He'd think about that later, right now he needed to find out more about where he was and how to get to where he wanted to be. Fully dressed, he gave Morrigan a courtly bow.

"I will go and speak with your mother. My thanks for your hospitality and information, Mistress Morrigan."

She actually looked a little flustered as she muttered, "You are, er, welcome."

 _Not as tough as she thinks she is!_ Killian smiled to himself as he left the hut. Outside, the air had the keen edge of oncoming winter. The hut stood on a knoll beside a small, reedy body of water. There were the mixed scents of forest and swamp in the air. A bright fire crackled nearby.

Killian heard a whine and looked down. Rufus was standing in front of him, head on one side, eyes anxious. Without fully understanding why, Killian squatted down until he was eye-level with the mabari.

"Cormac is all right." He told the dog. "His wounds are healed, but he needs to sleep a little longer."

The dog gave a happy bark and wagged his stumpy tail. Killian rose and Rufus butted gently against him. He gave the huge head a brief rub and Rufus barked happily again. Killian was once more forced to reassess the intelligence of this animal -it seemed to have understood every word he had said.

Two figures were standing by the fire. One was Alistair, who gazed at Killian with relief.

"You're alive!" He said. "Morrigans' mother said you'd be all right, both of you, but I couldn't help worrying! How is Cormac?"

"Still sleeping, but he'll be fine." Killian reassured him. "How are you, lad?"

"I'm, I don't know." Alistair stammered. "I mean, my wounds are healed, but, but... I can't believe this! Why would...?"

He spun away suddenly, facing out over the water. Killian put a hand on the boys' shoulder and squeezed it lightly, then turned to the other figure.

This was an older woman, in rough peasant clothing, grey-haired, but with the same strong-featured face and golden eyes as Morrigan.

"The boy is having some trouble." She stated. "But you, Captain, seem more stable."

"Captain?" He asked. "How did you...?"

She laughed. "Not everyone in Thedas is mired in ignorance, young man. That you are a seaman is obvious. When you came out of the hut, you looked first at the sky, next at the horizon, and only then at the ground before you. A landsman would look close first, far second and only a farmer would look at the sky at all. That you are a Captain is equally clear – even here in the Korcari Wilds, you stand as you would on your quarterdeck, and only a man of rank would address a Grey Warden as 'lad'. As to the rest, your hand, or lack of it, gives you away."

She beckoned him closer, away from Alistair, and spoke in a lower voice:

"We have not met, but I know your reputation, and wonder what the notorious Captain Hook is doing in this Realm?"

"They call me Killian Jones here." He told her. "A suspicious wanderer captured in the kings' camp and recruited as a Grey Warden. I'd rather nobody else knew the rest."

"You need not fear me." She replied. "I am Flemeth, they call me the Witch of the Wilds. But you have not answered my question, Killian Jones. Are you here at the behest of the Dark One, or in his despite?"

"And what difference will my answer make?" He asked.

"To me, none." She told him. "To you, the difference between life and death. Though it might give you pause to know that I have a way of knowing if I am lied to."

On balance, Killian decided, the truth was the best option. "I came here seeking a means to deal with the Dark One, permanently."

Flemeth laughed. "I wish you luck with that, Killian Jones! Did the loss of your hand teach you nothing?"

"It didn't teach me cowardice, or forgiveness." He replied evenly. "But there is more at stake here than simple revenge."

"Oh, that there is!" She agreed. "And more than you know!"

"How do you know of the Dark One?." He asked.

"Oh, our paths have crossed more than once." She informed him. "Sometimes to his discomfort, more often to mine. I would not weep to see him brought low.

"See here, Killian Jones, as a young woman, I was cast out, along with my beloved, among the Chasind. But I had a talent for magic, which the barbarian mages sought to tutor me in. But I soon grew tired of their simple magics, and used what they had taught me to seek better instruction, in realms where magic was better understood. In one such realm, I met the Queen of Hearts, and she became my mentor."

"The Queen of Hearts? Cora?" Killian was astonished.

"Indeed." Flemeth replied. "She taught me, and we became as close friends as any two powerful witches can be.

"But then I returned to Thedas, to be betrayed by Conobar and see my beloved slain. I used what I had learned then, to exact my vengeance. Since then, I have lived in the Wilds, practising and learning. I tried to contact Cora again, and then found that time runs differently across realms. Centuries pass here whilst only years or decades might pass in others, or millennia in yet others. So it was that whilst I have lived for centuries, yet only a few years had passed for Cora.

"So yes, Killian Jones, I know of Reginas' treachery and your part in it. I know of the Dark Curse, its breaking and re-enactment, for even after Cora died, I had the means to watch and see in many realms.

"As to Rumplestiltskin, his nature leads him also to be a wanderer across realms, and a seeker out of mages and magic. It was inevitable our paths should cross. Yet I am puzzled as to what you thought to find here that would end him?"

Killian told her about the book, and the Rite of Tranquility. Flemeth shook her head.

"A worthy aim, but this Uldred did not tell you all, even if he knew it. The Rite indeed severs a mages' connection to the Fade, stripping them of both magic and emotion, and so those who undergo it are called the Tranquil.

"But for the Dark One, it is far too late. Think you that Rumpelstiltskin and the Dark One are the same? They are not. The Dark One is a demon, one who crossed the Veil to possess a great mage long ago, making him an Abomination. Since then, it has passed from mage to mage, seeking always the darkest and most powerful to possess. Rumpelstiltskin is but the latest of its conquests, and should you strip him of his power, you will unleash the full power of the demon, which only the mages' will and power holds in check. This you must not do, lest your Realm be devoured."

Killian swore. "So this whole bloody trip has been a waste of time!" He growled.

"Has it?" Flemeth asked. "Are you not now a Grey Warden? You do not yet fully grasp what this means – the change takes time – but know this, Killian Jones, from the moment you mastered the taint and survived the Joining, your heart was forever beyond the grasp, or even touch, of anyone whose own heart is darkened. Think on that.

"But here comes the other Warden, and I have matters to attend to. Listen well, Killian Jones, for you must decide, and that soon!"

Cormac had indeed emerged from the hut, and after disentangling himself from Rufus' enthusiastic greeting, approached the fire, greeting Killian and Alistair sombrely. Alistair, whose tear-stained cheeks attested to his distress, burst out:

"This doesn't seem real! Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now that is an excellent question." Flemeth pointed out. "Mens' hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he thinks the horde is an army he can outmanoeuvre. He does not see that the power behind it is the real threat."

"The Archdemon." Alistair said grimly. "I don't think Loghain believes there is one, that this is really a Blight."

"He doesn't want to, I think." Killian put in. "Excuse my ignorance – I come from a long way away – but what's the history between Loghain and the Orlesians?"

"The history of Ferelden." Cormac told him. "The short version is that Orlais invaded Ferelden and occupied us for nearly a century. It was only thirty years ago that King Maric – Cailans' father – and Loghain finally drove them out. Why?"

"Because when I met them both," Killian said, "Loghain made it very clear to Cailan that in his opinion, the Kings' army had no business being anywhere but the Orlesian border, Darkspawn or no Darkspawn."

"You think Loghain believes the Orlesians will take the Darkspawn threat as an opportunity to invade again?" Cormac asked. "That's ridiculous! My father was on a diplomatic visit to Orlais only last year. The last thing the Empress wants is war with Ferelden -the last time they occupied us, it was more trouble than it was worth. They only stayed because the last two Emperors were so stubborn."

"I dare say you're right, Cormac." Killian said. "But Loghains' an old soldier, and some old soldiers can't see past the last war."

"That...makes sense." Alistair said slowly. "Everyone knew that Duncan had sent for the Grey Wardens of Orlais, and Cailan sent messages to the Empress at the same time, he might have been asking for support."

"He was." Cormac put in. "He mentioned it at the meeting, and Loghain was furious about it!

"But that doesn't solve our current problem. What can we do about this Blight?"

"The three of us?" Alistair asked. "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the armies of half-a-dozen nations at his back!"

"Have the Grey Wardens no allies these days?" Flemeth asked.

"Well," Alistair said, "as I said, the Grey Wardens of Orlais have been called. And Arl Eamon would never strand for this, surely!"

"The Arl of Redcliffe?" Cormac asked.

"Yes." Alistair nodded. "Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar, he still has all his men, and he was Cailans' uncle. I know him, he's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."

"Do we have any other allies?" Cormac asked.

"Of course!" Alistair blurted. "The treaties! The Grey Wardens can ask for help from Elves, Dwarves and the Circle of Magi! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

"I may be old," Flemeth said, "but Elves, Dwarves, Magi, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else; this sounds like an army to me."

"So can we do this?" Alistair asked. "Go to all these places and...raise an army?"

Cormac shrugged. "Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?"

"I don't think it's going to be quite that easy, though." Killian warned.

"When was anything worth doing easy?" Flemeth asked. "So, you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"Such as we are, yes." Cormac answered.

"Good." The old woman nodded. "Now it is time for the noon-meal. You should eat before you leave, and then I have one other thing I can offer you..."

Just then, Morrigan came out of the hut, saying: "The stew is ready, Mother. Shall the Wardens eat with us before they leave?"

"Indeed." Flemeth replied. "And when they leave, girl, you will go with them!"

That started a wrangle which lasted throughout the meal – a rich stew of game, wild roots and herbs – and in which Killian took no part. Cormac seemed to appreciate the advantages of having a mage in the party. Whilst acknowledging that, Alistair was concerned that Morrigan was an apostate - a mage outside the Circle - which might cause problems with the Chantry and the Templars. Morrigan herself was more than a little put out: not so much, Killian felt, at the notion of going, but at the cavalier way in which her mother had volunteered her.

Leaving them to an argument he understood little of, Killian found himself watching them all, whilst trying to make a decision. He knew now that what he had come in search of would be of no use against Gold, but he hadn't given up hope of finding something he could use. But there was something else... Killian knew that the longer he stayed here, the more difficult it would be to leave his new allies. These were people who knew nothing of his nefarious past, to them, he was simply another Grey Warden, to be respected as a comrade in arms. That was the source of the problem.

Killian considered the others. Alistair – an indomitable fighter, brave to the point of recklessness, who hid a shrewd mind behind a facade of quirky humour and apparent mild stupidity. A follower, not a leader – lacking the confidence to command. Cormac, on the other hand, was obviously a nobleman, born to the purple and trained to lead, with the fighting skills and courage to match his confidence. But politically, and in other ways, his training had been at fault – he lacked the cynicism that was so essential to succeed in politics; Loghain would make mincemeat of him without ever having to draw a blade. Morrigan was clever, had cynicism in plenty, and was probably a talented mage, but she was still a teenager – self-absorbed, selfish and no end stroppy!

What they all lacked, and what Killian had a bucketful of, was experience. And there it was, the crux of his dilemma. Left to themselves, these... _kids_...wouldn't last ten minutes, for all their skills and bravery. Not that he would or could lead them – Cormac was the man for that, and they were unconsciously deferring to him already. But Killian had to be there, at least for a while, at the lads' elbow, giving him a hint, a warning, the benefit of a life spent in the thick of things.

 _All right,_ he thought, _all right. Until the Tower of Mages -they'll have to go there – at least. After that, we'll see. If they learn as fast as I think they will, they won't need me for long!_

Then the meal and the argument were done. Morrigan fetched her pack, and suggested they make for Lothering, a village on the northern edge of the Wilds, to pick up information and supplies. Killian settled his pack, made sure of his weapons and set off, walking beside the taciturn Cormac while Rufus busily snuffled out the route ahead, and Alistair and Morrigan bickered behind them.

After some hours, the rough route through the Wilds gave way to a wide, well-built stone road that lifted over the swamps on a graceful viaduct.

"The old Imperial Highway." Cormac told Killian. "Built Ages ago by the Magister-Lords of the Tevinter Imperium. Time was, they say, that these types of roads criss-crossed the whole of Thedas, but most of them are gone. The Chantry takes a dim view of anything Tevinter, and tends to raise mobs to destroy the old structures. Even so, there are a lot of Tevinter ruins in remote parts of Ferelden, like the Brecilian Forest and the Frostback Mountains."

"Sadly for us," Morrigan put in, "this road takes us only a few leagues past Lothering before falling into ruin as it enters the Bannorn. Beyond that, my knowledge grows scarce, and we must rely on Alistair. 'Tis likely we shall be lost until Midsummer next."

"Do you mind?" Alistair protested. "I have a very good sense of direction, thank you!"

"I was unaware you possessed sense of any kind." Morrigan told him. "If true, 'tis a great surprise, though I would rather rely upon the instincts of yonder mangy beast."

Rufus, who knew he was being talked about, proceeded to bounce playfully around Morrigan, driving her to distraction and saving Alistair from her sniping for a while.

"So what," Killian asked Cormac, "is the Bannorn?"

The younger man seemed more talkative now. Killian learned that Ferelden was not the feudal state he had assumed it was. There was no serfdom or slavery in Ferelden – though the conditions of City Elves sometimes came close to it – and nobility was only hereditary through habit or hard work. The freeholders of Ferelden would choose one of their number as their 'Bann' -usually a freeholder with a strategically-sited home, a talent for command or the recipient of universal respect. The freeholders then paid the Bann in cash or goods to fortify his home as a place of refuge and maintain an armed force to protect against invasion and keep order in the district. There were no oaths of allegiance, and the Banns could only command the freeholders in time of emergency. Nevertheless, the title and responsibility tended to stay in the same family across generations, provided they lived up to what was required of them. The Bannorn was the central plain of Ferelden, a fertile, thickly inhabited region where the territories of a large number of Banns crowded close together.

In times past, occasions had arisen when a number of Banns had sworn allegiance to one of their number, thus making him or her a Teyrn. When the legendary King Calenhad united the warring tribes and formed Ferelden into a nation, he was forced to destroy all but two of the ancient Teyrnirs – Highever and Gwaren. Diffidently, Cormac admitted that the Teyrnir of Highever had been held by his family, the Couslands, since before the monarchy. The last hereditary Teyrn of Gwaren and his family had been killed resisting the Orlesian occupation, and King Maric had elevated his commoner-born general, Loghain mac Tir, to the Teyrnir after the war. It fell to the King and the Teyrns to appoint certain Banns -holders of strategically-important castles or towns – as Arls with authority over the Banns in their area.

"Which all sounds very fine and orderly," Cormac said, "until you realise that all this exists only because the freeholders allow it. They can demote their Bann any time they like and choose a new one. The Banns, in turn, can refuse to support an Arl or a Teyrn they don't like or trust. As for the King, well, every year all the Banns, Arls and Teyrns gather for the Landsmeet, and unless the King can carry a majority of them with him, he can forget any plans he might have, and since the Banns and Arls must answer to their freeholders, he has to make sure he's getting it right!

"Hello, what's this?"

A couple of overturned carts had been placed across the causeway, allowing only a narrow passage between. As they approached, a man appeared in the gap and called over his shoulder; "Wake up, gentlemen! More travellers to attend to! I'd guess this fellow is the leader."

The last remark was addressed to Cormac as a group of men in mismatched armour, but carrying well-tended weapons, gathered behind their leader.

"Highwaymen." Alistair said softly. "Preying on those fleeing the Darkspawn."

"They are fools to get in our way." Morrigan declared. "I say, teach them a lesson."

The bandit leader shook his head and tutted. "Now is that any way to greet someone?" He asked. "We're only businessmen, looking to make an honest living. A simple ten silvers and you're on your way."

It was on the tip of Killians' tongue to say 'pay the man', but then he saw Cormacs' expression. So, apparently, did another of the bandits, a huge fellow with a granite jaw and a head designed for butting rather than thinking.

"Urr, dey don't look much like dem ovvers." He said to his leader in what he must have thought was a quiet tone. "Maybe we should just let dese ones pass?"

"Nonsense!" The leader said with gratingly false cheeriness. "What do you say, friend?"

"You should listen to your friend." Cormac said quietly, "We're not refugees."

"Told you!" The big man said. "No wagons, and dis one looks armed!"

"Nonsense, Hanric." The leader said again. "The toll applies to everyone! That's why it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax!"

"Oh, right!" Light seemed to dawn on Hanric, albeit dimly. "Even if yer no refugee, yer still gotta pay!"

"Forget it." Cormac said flatly. "I'm not paying."

"Can't say I'm pleased to hear that." The bandit declared. "We have rules, you know!"

"Yeah." Hanric added. "Dat means we get to ransack yer corpse. Dose are der rules!"

"You can try..." Cormac said, drawing his sword.

It was quite a merry brawl while it lasted. The bandits were good fighters, but three skilled warriors, a trained wardog, and a witch with a gleeful penchant for some very painful-looking spells, were a few too many for them. Disarmed, wounded and with Killians' sword at his throat, the leader was anxious to begin a negotiation that ended with him handing over all the money they had gathered - about a hundred silvers – and agreeing to start running and not stop until they were out of sight.

That done, the group descended a flight of stairs to a landing which overlooked the village of Lothering. It was at that point that Alistair decided to ask what, if any, plans Cormac had. Apparently unaware that he had been officially installed as leader, Cormac nevertheless did the right thing by asking what the others thought.

Morrigan demonstrated a fine mixture of bloodthirstiness and inexperience when she stated that the obvious first step was to find and kill Loghain. Cormac managed to look as if he was seriously considering the notion – despite it being obvious suicide – before turning to Alistair.

Alistair was of the opinion that the best plan was to use the treaties he and Cormac had recovered before the battle. These covered three groups, the Circle of Magi, the Dalish Elves and the Dwarves of Orzammar.

"I also think," he went on, "that Arl Eamon is still our best bet for help. We might want to go to him first."

Cormac considered. "Redcliffe is to the West, near the mountains." He said. "Probably nearer than anywhere else."

Alistair nodded. "The Mages' Tower is on Lake Calenhad, about a days' journey from Redcliffe, so we can go to them straight from there. We'll need to see the First Enchanter, whoever that might be."

"What about the Dalish?" Cormac asked. "I understand they're not easy to find?"

"Not so much nowadays." Alistair told him. "Some of the Human communities around there are more tolerant these days. The Dalish barter their crafts with them for things they can't find in the wild. If we head east to the Brecilian Forest, we should be able to get word of at least one of the clans that passes through that area. We'll be looking for their Keeper."

"The Dwarves?" Cormac asked.

"Their King is in Orzammar, their underground city." Alistair said. "We have to go west into the Frostback Mountains. Bad country at this time of year."

Cormac considered for a moment, then turned to Killian. "Your thoughts, Captain?"

"First things first." Killian told him. "We go down into Lothering and find out what's happening if we can. Then we decide where to go next, and get the supplies we need to go there. Though Alistair is probably right that we should go find Arl Eamon as soon as we can, for all we know he may already be in the field and after Loghains' hide. Or he may be supporting Loghain."

"He'd never do that!" Alistair said hotly.

"He might." Killian replied reasonably. "This is politics, Alistair, and for some people power comes before family or loyalty. It depends on whether your Arl Eamon is an honourable man or a... politician."

"Right!" Cormac said. "You two are both right. Morrigan, I'm sorry, but as we stand now, we couldn't get near Loghain. We'll get into Lothering and see what we can find out. Then, unless we hear anything that changes out minds, we'll make for Redcliffe."

"Lead on, then, lad." Killian said.


	4. Chapter 4

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Four: Civil War**

" _Only fools fight over who owns a cottage while it burns down around them!"_

 _Ser Bryant, Knight-Commander of Templars in Lothering_

Emma Swan was the one pacing, but the restlessness was in the man sitting across the desk from Regina. The energy coming from him was almost volcanic in its intensity, but he held himself in with a steely control she'd seen in nobody else but Regina. Not that Regina herself was too controlled right now. She only stayed sitting because her legs were still unsteady from what their 'visitor' had called a 'Jellylegs Jinx'. Mary-Margaret and David had assisted her to her seat with genuine concern and ill—concealed amusement, which hadn't helped Reginas' mood any.

"So let's start again." Emma said. "What's your name, where do you come from and what are you doing in Storybrooke?"

The man sighed, and began to speak in his precise, British way. "My name is Sirius Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black, brother to Regulus Black. My home was No 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England.

"I am a pureblood wizard and member of the Order of the Phoenix. In 1995, I was involved in a fight in the Ministry of Magic in London, where I was struck by a Stun Hex and fell through the Veil. I spent the next twenty years in a place called 'the Fade', until a week ago. At that time I encountered a man called Killian Jones, who was travelling through the Fade from Storybrooke to parts unknown. I'd never heard of Storybrooke, but I did recognise Maine, of course. I was – am – anxious to get home, for a lot of reasons, so I went through the portal Mr Jones had come through.

"As soon as I got through on this side, I apparated to London. Fortunately, I chose to appear in a side-alley opposite my house, rather than inside it. That was when I realised something was wrong. The house was there, in plain view. I saw a muggle postman put letters through the door. That shouldn't happen – even with the Fidelius Charm broken, muggles shouldn't be able to see that house. So I went to find the Ministry of Magic, only there was some kind of sandwich bar there. The _Leaky Cauldron_ was gone as well, no entrance into Diagon Alley.

"So I went to Scotland, to Hogsmeade, and found an empty moor near a ruined castle where my old school should be.

"So, I came back here, where I knew there were wizards, to find out what had happened to my people.

"Now, will somebody tell me what's going on?"

Emma sighed. "There's a problem with all that, Mr Black. Two problems, in fact.

"One is that there are no wizards native to this Realm. Only people born in the Enchanted Realms can practise magic, and then only within the confines of this town."

"Had there been a family as extensive and magically-powerful as you claim yours to be, in any of those Realms," Regina put in, "I would have heard of them. To be honest, I'd probably have done my best to kill them all. Though if they were all as skilled as you," her voice took on a rueful tone, "I'd probably be dead! Or turned into something really unpleasant."

"Thank you, I think." Black replied, before turning to Emma. "You spoke of a second problem?"

"The second problem." Emma took a breath. "You know what the internet is, don't you?" She asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea." Black told her. "Some muggle thing, I take it. I told you, I'm a pureblood. My family didn't approve of anything muggle. They thought my interest in motorcycles was a sign of degeneracy."

"Whatever." Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not about to explain it to you, since I don't speak nerd and I'm pretty sure you don't. All I'll say is that you can use the internet to find out a lot of things.

"For instance, the address you gave – 12 Grimmauld Place – hasn't existed since 1852, when the street was renamed Coverley Place. Number 12 is the residence of a London stockbroker named Colin Foster, his wife Victoria and their three children, Jasmine, Roland and Rebecca. It has never belonged to a family named Black.

"But that's not the problem. Do you know, Mr Black, what happens when I type the name 'Sirius Black' into a search engine?"

"If my guess as to what a 'search engine' does is correct," Black told her, "I imagine you get nothing at all."

"Not quite." Emma replied. "What I get is over forty-six _million_ hits – answers. The most popular and precise of which concern a wizard named Sirius Black, a character in an immensely successful series of children's books written by a British author in the 1990s, and the movies based on those books."

"That," Black conceded, "is a problem. Or perhaps a coincidence?"

"It's neither." Emma replied flatly. "The _problem_ , Mr Black, is that everything you have told us about yourself up to your disappearance through this Veil, matches exactly the history of the fictional wizard as told by the author.

"Now you might be some crazy person who thinks he's a character from a book – it happens. What blows a hole in that is that you _are_ actually a wizard, and the magic you use is just like the magic in the books. I know because my son has read those books more times than I care to think about!

"Wherever you come from, Mr Black, it's not here! And I'm pretty sure that wherever Killian was going wasn't where you came from, either!"

"We do know Killian plans to come back." Mary-Margaret pointed out. "That pattern he drew on the ground is still there, and whatever potion he poured into it is still there too! It can't be scooped out, and neither you nor Regina could magic it out."

Emma shook her head. "I guess there's only one person in Storybrooke who can make sense of this." She admitted. "Mary-Margaret, will you go fetch Henry?"

The cave was vast, so vast that he couldn't feel the heat from the river of lava that flowed through the middle of it. Not that he would have noticed, he barely noticed the stench of the things surrounding him. Like them, his attention was riveted upwards.

On a natural stone bridge, high above, perched a magnificent beast – a true dragon. It reared up, spread its great wings and breathed a gout of flame. Then it roared, and there were words in the roar. He didn't understand them, but they were there, words of hate, of anger, goading them to sally forth, to kill, to burn, to devour!

Then he was awake, staring wide-eyed into a star-filled sky. Killian sat up and looked around. The east was just beginning to lighten. Nearby, Cormac had started up at the same moment. Killian met the lads' eyes and saw a haunted look there that was probably mirrored in his own.

"Bad dreams?" The voice was Alistairs'. He had taken the last watch and was sitting across the fire from them.

"It seemed so real..." Cormac said quietly.

"Must've been something I ate..." Killian tried to shrug it off.

Alistair smiled grimly at him. "Something you drank, actually." He said. "The Joining, remember?"

He turned to Cormac. "It seemed real because it was, sort of. The Joining enables us to sense the Darkspawn, but there are side-effects. Those dreams are one of them. The Archdemon..it _talks_ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight. The same thing happened to me at first, and when I heard you both thrashing around, I guessed what was happening.

"It takes a little while, but eventually you'll be able to block the dreams out."

"That dragon is the Archdemon, then?" Cormac asked.

"I don't know if it's actually a dragon," Alistair admitted, "but it sure looks like one."

"Now you mention it, Duncan did say something about dreams..." Killian stopped talking as Alistairs' face fell. The boy was still suffering the loss of his mentor. Not surprising, since Duncan might well have been the nearest to a father Alistair had ever had. Cormac got up and went over, hunkering down beside Alistair and talking quietly to him. Killian made his way to a nearby brook to splash cold water on his face and hands. They'd boil up a cauldron in a bit to get a warm wash, but for now he needed to clear his head.

The visit to Lothering had proved both profitable and frustrating. The village itself was overrun with refugees, the only organised body there being the Chantry and a small force of Templars attached to it. While most of the refugees were just stopping over, intending to move north to the capital, Denerim, the villagers themselves were as yet undecided. Since the Bann of Lothering and his men had been conscripted by Loghain, the Revered Mother of the Chantry was the _de facto_ leader of the village, and had yet to persuade them to leave. Until they did so, neither she nor the Templars would abandon them.

It was Ser Bryant, Knight-Commander of the Templars, who had informed them that Loghain had declared all Grey Wardens traitors to Ferelden, and blamed them for Cailans' death. They had also learned that Loghain, as the late Kings' father-in-law, had declared himself Regent. Much of the Bannorn had refused to accept this – Loghain had been born a commoner, after all, and more importantly, he had not summoned a Landsmeet to debate the matter. But the man who should have led the opposition, who could have united the nobility, was absent. Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, it seemed, was deathly ill – so much so that many of his knights were on a quest to find a relic of Andraste, said to be able to cure any disease. Ser Bryant had also paid them a small bounty for driving off the bandits, and pointed them in the direction of the Chanter' Board -a notice board outside the Chantry where people posted requests – usually dangerous ones – for which a reward was offered.

A knight of Redcliffe, Ser Donal, who was staying at the Chantry, confirmed the tale of Eamons' sickness. He told them, however, that Arlessa Isolde was still at Redcliffe Castle, and could probably tell them more.

Attempts to buy supplies were not overly successful. Arms and armour were to be had in plenty, but there was precious little in the way of other gear and no food to spare. A visit to the local inn led to a hostile encounter with a group of Loghains' men, who recognised Cormac and Killian, and attempted to arrest them. A woman called Leliana – apparently a lay sister of the Chantry – had attempted to intervene, only to be caught up in what proved a rather nasty brawl. To Killians' surprise, Sister Leliana had immediately produced a long dagger which she employed in a most efficient, if unsportsmanlike, fashion. She then proceeded to sweet-talk Cormac into letting her join the party. She was a short, slender redhead with the muscled arms of an archer. She was also pretty, wide-eyed and soft-spoken. Killian didn't trust her as far as he could have thrown Rufus!

At the urging of Killian and Morrigan, the party had then scoured the local area of bandits, wolves, bears and spiders the size of bears. That had netted them some good loot – including a suit of fine steel chainmail for Cormac – and decent rewards. Among the latter was a steel longsword, superbly-balanced, called Oathkeeper, which Killian had appropriated. Between the loot and the rewards, they'd been able to outfit Leliana with armour and weapons, including a longbow.

Cormac and Killian had agreed that, for now, the best plan was to head for Redcliffe and see what the situation there was like, and so they had left Lothering that same day.

As Killian made his way back to the fire, he saw that Leliana was emerging from her tent – they had only two, which had been given to the ladies – and that Alistair was putting the last of their bacon into a pan. Their supplies had lasted better than they'd hoped, largely due to Rufus' habit of disappearing shortly before they set up camp for the night, only to come back carrying a choice article of game – he wanted his share of course, but a medium-sized deer or wild goat was more than enough to provide a decent evening meal for the party.

As Killian approached, Cormac beckoned him over.

"We seem to have acquired company." The young nobleman said.

Killian looked across the campsite. Between the main area and Morrigans' tent -she always camped a distance off, either unused to company or moping, Killian neither knew nor cared which – was another small fire, beside which two small figures were also preparing breakfast. Nearby was a cart and a hobbled mule. As the two men approached, the figures by the fire rose and came forward. One of them looked up with an ingratiating smile.

"Good to see you again, my timely rescuers!" He said. "Bodahn Feddic at your service once again. I saw your camp and thought, 'what safer place to pass the night than the camp of a Grey Warden?' I'm prepared to offer you a fine discount for the inconvenience of our presence. What do you say?"

They had met the Dwarf merchant and his taciturn son just outside Lothering several days ago. The trader had been under attack from a group of Darkspawn, which the party had quickly despatched.

"I thought you said travelling with us might be too exciting for you?" Cormac asked.

"Ah!" Bodahn said ruefully. "That was before I realised just how dangerous the roads have become!"

"You can stay." Cormac said, after a brief, wordless consultation with Killian. "But don't get underfoot!"

"And don't," Killian said, "be indiscreet with any other customers! We need to keep our heads down at the moment."

Bodahn intimated that he understood perfectly, just as Morrigan made her appearance.

"Breakfast," she said, "then a wash, and we should move on."

Cormac nodded. "We should reach Redclifffe by midmorning." He said. "The village is more or less on the southern tip of Lake Calenhad, if this map is right. The Castle itself is a little to the west, with its back to the mountains.

"Do you think you could get there without insulting Alistair, Morrigan?"

"I do not insult him." She replied. "I merely present an honest assessment of his abilities and personal qualities. I will refrain if you wish. But only for as long as you can refrain from flirting with Leliana!"

They had travelled a circuitous route up to now, skirting the edges of the Bannorn. They had agreed that a party containing three Grey Wardens and an apostate mage should avoid more populated areas for the moment. Today, however, Alistair took the lead, guiding them directly, a little west of north, toward Redcliffe.

"I know this country." He told them. "I grew up around here. Redcliffe is on the lake and they do more fishing than farming. What farms they do have are over to the east of the village where the land's flatter. We'll come to a river soon. There's a bridge near a waterfall that leads to the village, but we want the trail that leads up beside the falls to the Castle."

As the morning advanced, the hills to the west became higher and more rugged. These, Cormac told Killian, were the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. Alistair turned them a little more north. He seemed more himself today – a combination, perhaps, of having something important to contribute, and being free of Morrigans' incessant sniping. Behind Cormac and Killian, meanwhile, Morrigan was engaged in a theological dispute with Leliana. The red-headed archer was – or acted as if she was – a devout Andrastian, while Morrigan clearly had no time for either the Maker or his Prophet. Leliana viewed her faith as a source of strength, while Morrigan saw it as a weakness.

Then, quite suddenly, Rufus – who had been in his usual place out front – stopped at gaze. Alistair stopped as well, holding up a hand to halt the rest. They loosened their weapons. Two figures came round the foot of a hill into the main trail.

"By the Maker!" Alistair exclaimed, darting forward. The taller of the newcomers also ran forward.

"You're alive!" She cried. "Thank the Creators!"

Killian had recognised Elana, the Dalish Grey Warden he had met briefly at Ostagar. As she greeted Alistair with a fierce -and apparently unexpected – hug, Killian noticed that her companion was indeed the Dwarf, Hendel. Hendel greeted Alistair with more restraint, but with evident relief, and the newcomers were introduced round.

"We have someone to introduce as well." Elana said, turning back to the hills and calling. "Come on, Shale! No need to be shy!"

A mellifluous, if somewhat hollow, voice replied. "I am not being shy. I merely wished to give it time to greet its' friends properly."

The figure that followed the voice was some seven feet tall, and disproportionately wide. It was human-shaped but made from rough-hewn stone, relieved by a set of bright orange crystals set into its shoulders and wrists. It surveyed the company, then shrugged its' massive shoulders.

"Humans." It said. "How utterly fascinating. I do hope they are not like those villagers."

"We found Shale in a village down south." Elana explained. "He'd been frozen in place for, what, thirty years or so. Anyway, we had a control rod a merchant gave us, so we activated him. He decided to come with us."

"Decided?" Morrigan asked. "The Golem has free will?"

"Control rods' broken." Hendel told her.

"Does the mage – it is a mage, isn't it?" Shale asked. "Does the mage have any objections?"

"I? No." Morrigan replied. "'Twas merely an expression of surprise. Golems are not usually free."

"Just a minute!" Alistair said. "This is all backwards! How did you two escape Ostagar? It was a massacre!"

"The advantage – the only advantage – of bearing company with a Dwarf." Elana told him. "Hendel, with the infallible instincts of his kin, found a tunnel."

"It was in a cliff-face, well-hidden." Hendel informed them. "The Darkspawn must have been working on it right under the scouts' noses for days. It led into some dungeons under the Tower of Ishal. Looks as if they'd been sealed off for centuries, because they had to break through the ceiling to get into the Tower itself."

"We saw the hole." Cormac told them. "We had to fight through Darkspawn to get to the beacon."

"If Teyrn Loghain had let Grey Wardens go with the scouts..." Elana fumed, then went on. "By the time we got there, the Tower was choked with Darkspawn, all trying to get to the top. We knew you'd be there, but there were too many for us to cut our way through. So we made our way back across the bridge to the Kings' camp.

"Some of the mages – who were a bit back from the front lines – had realised what was happening and come back. They, the Templars and the Chantry priests were freeing the prisoners and getting the wounded out of there. First time I've ever seen priests work with mages and not complain about it.

"By this time, the Darkspawn from the Tower were coming across the bridge, so we and the Templars held them off until the wounded were clear. Then we fell back to the camp and the mages set the whole place ablaze around the Darkspawn. Hendel and I got separated from the rest and had to go south into the Wilds"

"The Wilds?" Morrigan asked. "I would not have thought a stranger could have made their way out of the Korcari Wilds to here in so short a time, and still alive!"

"The advantage – the only advantage – of bearing company with a Dalish Ranger." Hendel replied, earning a grin from Elana. "You could blindfold Elana and spin her on the spot for about a week, and she'd still come out facing north!"

"My people would not have survived so long as wanderers, had we been prone to getting lost!" Elana pointed out.

"Anyway," Hendel went on, "we got as far as Honnleath. The town was being raided by Darkspawn, so we cleared them out and picked up Shale in the process. Then we went to Lothering, where the last of the villagers were packing up and leaving. Ser Bryant – head of the Templars there – told us about Loghains' activities. He also said he'd seen some Grey Wardens who were heading for Redcliffe. So we decided to follow.

"We didn't know it was you, of course, we thought you were dead on top of that Tower. We thought you might be some of the Orlesian Wardens Duncan sent for. We tried to follow you directly, but that whole area is crawling with Darkspawn now, and we needed to avoid the Bannorn because of Loghain. So we were driven west into the mountains. I admit, I also hoped to find some Dwarven traders who could take a message to Orzammar, warn them about the Blight.

"But as for you, how did you get away – grow wings and fly off the Tower?"

By the time the explanations were done, they had reached the river Alistair had spoken of.

"Hullo!" He said. "There's normally at least a couple of militia on the bridge, and the Arls' guard should have someone at the foot of the trail. What's going on?"

There _was_ a guard – of sorts – on the bridge. A skinny, flaxen-haired lad in peasant clothes, carrying a bow, who hailed them with evident relief.

"Did our messages get through?" He asked. "Have you come to help?"

"We've come to see Arl Eamon." Cormac answered.

"To see the Arl?" The lad said. "Don't you _know_?"

"We know the Arl is ill, if that's what you mean." Killian told him.

"He could be _dead_ for all we know!" The young guard burst out. "We haven't heard from the castle in days! And now, every night, _things_ come out of the castle and attack us! More of them every night! I don't know how much longer we can hold out, Bann Teagan is all that's holding us together."

"Bann Teagan?" Alistair asked. "The Arls' brother? He's here?"

"Yes." The boy told him. "I'll take you to him, he'll want to speak to you. It's not far, come with me."

Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere, was a man in his forties, lean and fit, but just about at the end of his tether. There were dark circles under his eyes that told of too much worry and not enough sleep. He recognised Alistair, greeting him with real pleasure. He also found Cormac familiar, and here Killian had confirmed what he had long suspected, that Cormac was the younger son of the Teyrn of Highever. Then they got down to business.

Teagans' tale was simple and tersely told. Three days ago, the Castle had been locked down, suddenly and without explanation. That night, and every night since, an army of animated corpses had come down from the Castle into the village, killing indiscriminately and carrying the bodies away with them. Each night they came in greater numbers, leading Teagan to believe that those killed were being added to the attacking force. Then, with the air of a desperate but determined man, he asked for their help.

Cormac and the other Grey Wardens, including Killian, agreed at once. Apart from anything else, this was probably the only way to unseal the castle and get to Arl Eamon. To Killians' surprise, Leliana was also keen to help, but more for the sake of the villagers, for whom she demonstrated genuine compassion. Perhaps it was time to reassess the wench.

Morrigan, however, held out long and ferociously against the idea.

"'Tis not our concern!" She argued. "This has naught to do with the Blight, there are no Darkspawn here. Our goal is to penetrate the castle and discover the fate of your Arl Eamon. Are we to waste our time and risk our lives aiding these pathetic villagers in a battle they cannot hope to win?

"Better we should take the opportunity to slip into the castle whilst these undead amuse themselves with the villagers!"

"The sexy mage is uncommonly ruthless." Shale pointed out. "But it does have a point. Not that I care either way, providing I have the opportunity to squish something soon. I would as soon crush undead as anything else."

At that point, Killian discovered something else about Cormac. Ignoring the Golems' comment, the young man turned on Morrigan and gave her a dressing-down worthy of a Regimental Sergeant-Major of the old school. For once lost for words, Morrigan left the table and withdrew into a corner, silence and - Killian privately suspected - tears. Without missing a beat, Cormac turned to Teagan and asked for more details about the tactical situation.

This led to a council of war, at which they were joined by Ser Perth, the most senior of a group of Redcliffe knights who had returned from their quest but been unable to enter the castle, Murdock, a gravel-voiced fisherman who was Mayor of the village and commanded the militia, and Revered Mother Hannah, of the Redcliffe Chantry.

A defensive point had been set up near the mill above the village, between the bridge and the steep path that led down into Redcliffe proper, this was manned by Ser Perth and his knights, and was the path by which the main force of attackers came. Murdock and the militia had set up a series of barricades in the village square in front of the Chantry to defend against any who got past the knights and the less numerous forces that came from the lakeside. Finally, those unable to fight were to take refuge in the Chantry. This was the sturdiest building in the village. Bann Teagan himself was to remain there, as a last defence, aided by two elderly but hale lay brothers, both former Templars.

There were problems, and Killian and his friends set about solving them. Ser Perth, a devout Andrastian, was insistent that his knights needed holy protection from the undead. Killian was able to wheedle Mother Hannah, a gaunt elderly woman with a severe face and a kindly manner, into providing the Knights with some of the medallions worn by Chantry priests. Mother Hannah felt that this was trickery, and Killian agreed, but pointed out the power of such morale boosters.

Meanwhile, Murdock was complaining that the blacksmith, Owen, had locked himself in the smithy and was refusing to work, despite the desperate need of the militia for repairs to their limited arms and armour. Cormac talked his way into the smithy to discover that Owen, a widower of two years, had nothing left but his daughter, Valena. Valena was a maid to the Arlessa, and was trapped up in the castle, leaving her father in despair. Cormac promised solemnly to try to rescue Valena, whereupon Owen, drunk as a lord but still master of his craft, set to work with a fine energy.

Hendel had sought out a Dwarf trader, Dwyn, who lived in the village. A seasoned fighter, Dwyn had nonetheless declined to assist the town thus far. By a combination of bribery and threats, Hendel managed to change his mind. Elana had gone to the inn and put a hundred silvers behind the bar – thus persuading the miserly landlord to provide free ale for the militia, to boost morale.

Leliana, who had accompanied Elana, spotted a suspicious stranger – an armed City Elf named Berwick -lurking in the bar, and the two women had frogmarched him down to Cormac. Under a brief interrogation, Berwick had admitted to being a spy, sent to report on the Arls' condition, but trapped by recent events and unable to report. When asked who he was spying for, he told them he'd been hired by Loghains' right-hand man, Arl Rendon Howe. On hearing that name, Cormacs' eyes had blazed with sudden anger, and he had curtly given Berwick the choice to either join the militia or die where he stood. Eyeing the big lads' hefty sword, Berwick agreed to help in the defence.

Finally, Alistair and Shale had turned up at the main defence point near the mill with several barrels of lamp oil they had found. They and the knights proceeded to construct a simple fire-trap which, even if it did not destroy the undead, would certainly slow them down.

By now, the day was waning, so the party returned to the Chantry. The first thing that happened, was that Morrigan approached Cormac, offering a meek apology and promising not to act so foolishly in future. This Cormac accepted with a word of thanks.

They then joined Bann Teagan for a hasty meal and a final consultation.

"If the attack follows the pattern you described," Cormac said, "the main and first attack will come down the trail from the castle. With us reinforcing the knights, we should be able to break the back of that assault fairly quickly.

"Murdock, you'll need to have scouts out, and as soon as you see attackers coming from the lake, send somebody up to let us know. Depending on the situation at the mill, some or all of us will come down to support the militia."

That settled, Teagan asked Ser Perth and Murdock to leave, as he had to speak privately with the Wardens.

"When I first arrived here," he told them, "my intention was to go directly into the castle to find out what had happened. There is a passage – a tunnel – that leads from the mill at the top of the village to the castle dungeons. It's a secret known only to the family, the entrance can only be opened with a family signet."

"Why didn't you go?" Killian asked.

Teagan sighed. "The attacks started that night. It was only by luck that we survived at all. After that, I could not in conscience abandon these people. Ser Perth and Murdock are both capable leaders of their own people, but they needed a single voice of command, and neither felt comfortable in claiming rank over the other. My father taught us all that the needs of our people come first."

"Just as my father taught Fergus and I." Cormac nodded. "I understand."

"Thank you, my lord." Teagan said. "Now, what I propose is this. Despite her unfortunate way of expressing herself, your companion Mistress Morrigan has a point. While the undead attack the village, there must be fewer of them actually inside the castle. It is possible that a small party could make their way inside and discover the fate of my brother, his wife Isolde and their son, Connor. Perhaps even rescue them.

"Do you think you can spare some of your party, Grey Wardens?"

The plan was, everyone agreed, a sound one. It just remained to decide who should do what. Cormac appealed to Killian for his judgement.

"I think," Killian said, "That with you, Alistair, and Shale in the front line – not forgetting Rufus, who's an army all by himself - and with Elana and Morrigan backing you up, that would be all the support the knights or militia need. Any more, and we'd start falling over one another.

"That leaves me, Hendel and Leliana to go into the castle. I'm sneakier than most. How does that suit you two?"

Hendel grunted. "I'm a Dwarf – more at home fighting between stone walls than under the sky. It's all right with me."

"And I," Leliana said, "am trained to detect traps and pick locks. Skills of more use inside the castle than without."

"Done!" Cormac said, then glanced out of the window. "Sun's going down. Time to get started, everyone!"


	5. Chapter 5

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Five: The Battle of Redcliffe**

" _It feels just like coming home. Only with more undead."_

 _Alistair_

Henry Mills reminded Sirius forcibly of his godson. Not that he resembled Harry physically – he was a well-grown lad, whereas when Sirius had last seen Harry in the flesh, he'd been skinny and gangly – but there were strong similarities in character. Sirius had never fully overcome his disappointment that Harry, despite being the living spit of James in looks, was in character entirely his mothers' son. Henry had, to a degree, the same compassion and kindness that characterised Harry and Lily, and a similar vein of dry humour. He was just now saying to Sirius:

"I know this is a lot to process, just ask me anything you want, and I'll try to answer."

A lot to process, indeed! On the table in front of Sirius lay seven paperback books, all well-thumbed but carefully looked-after. He had just set down the one entitled _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ , in which he had read an account of his 'death' at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Apart from the fact that it was all shown from Harry's viewpoint, the account was chillingly accurate. Only the last of series of hauntingly precise rehearsals of every encounter and conversation he had had with his godson.

"There was one more time." He said quietly to Henry. "The only time I slept, or dreamed, while I was in the Fade. I felt something pulling me and then I was with Remus and James and Lily in the Dark Forest, talking with Harry..."

Wordlessly, Henry handed him the seventh book - _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Sirius read the scene quickly, then shook his head.

"It was like a dream, one of those dreams where you know everythings' wrong, but you can't do anything about it. I wanted to shout at Harry, to yell at him to run and run and never look back, to forget about Voldemort and let the whole mess play itself out without him. But all I could do was talk platitudes and let him go... Did he die that night?"

"No." Henry said. "It's kinda complicated, but Harry had a bit of Voldemorts' soul inside him, and by then he was the rightful master of the Elder Wand, which Voldemort was using. So when the Killing Curse hit him, it destroyed the fragment of Voldemort, but left Harry alive.

"Later that day, he defeated Voldemort. By now, he's Head of the Aurors, married to Ginny Weasley and has three kids. The eldest is called James Sirius."

"In a set of books!" Sirius growled, throwing the one he held onto the table. "How is it that I remember all of this as real life, but to you, it's fiction?"

Henry rubbed his face, then said. "Have you ever heard of alternate universes?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sirius asked. "I thought the idea of a universe was that it was...universal. That there was only one."

Henry shrugged. "It used to be. Now a lot of people, even some scientists, believe that any universe is one of many in what they call a 'multiverse'. There are people who believe, not only that anything _can_ happen, but that everything _must_ happen, somewhere. That there are an infinite number of universes, all occupying the same space, and all separate and distinct from each other.

"I could go on about quantum theory and non-linear time until we both had headaches, and neither of us would be any the wiser. All I can tell you is that I _know_ it's the truth. Everyone in this town is from another universe, except me. I was born here, but my Mom was born in the Enchanted Realm. Also, almost everyone in this town is a character in a story in this universe. So the idea that you're real in your own universe, and a story character in this one, well, it's not so strange to me."

"But this..universe..is so much like mine!" Sirius complained. "Except there are no wizards."

"Of course there aren't." Regina put in. "When I brought the people here, created this town, I made sure that the only place we could come to was a 'land without magic'. I didn't care where, as long as we could survive here and that I would be the only magic-user.

"Your world, Mr Black, has a thriving community of wizards and witches, so we couldn't have arrived there."

Sirius shook his head. "I need two things." He decided. "Time to work out what I do next, and a _very_ stiff drink!"

The walking dead came across the bridge and down the pass in a yellow mist. Killian smelled them before he saw them. Not the stench of decay, but a sour, dry odour that caught at the throat and made you thirsty. These dead were not rotting, shambling zombies, but dessicated mummies, as if whatever force had created them had sucked all the juice from them first.

As the attackers threaded their way through the maze of stakes – designed to break a phalanx – that the knights had set up, Elana fired a flaming arrow into the oil-soaked wood Alistair and Shale had set there. The blaze did not seem to hurt the dead, but their dry flesh burned like tinder, and the fire consumed them even as they came on, so that some simply fell to pieces before reaching the defenders. The rest attacked with a mindless savagery that reminded Killian of the Darkspawn. The knights countered with skill and discipline, but he could tell that they were glad of the support of the Grey Warden party.

Cormac held his ground in the direct path of the attack, his great sword swinging about him in a figure-of-eight pattern that neither armour nor flesh nor bone could stop. Those fortunate enough to go round him met Alistair on one flank, leading a small group of knights armed with swords, axes and maces. Shale and Rufus held the other flank, those undead who did not crumble under the Golems' sledgehammer punches were crushed in the Mabari hounds' mighty jaws.

Ser Perth and the rest of the knights swept up the stragglers, supported by Morrigan and Elana. The Dalish womans' arrows didn't seem to hurt the attackers, but they could pin them in place or skewer their weapon arms to their torsos. Morrigan fired shattering bolts of power from her staff, or froze attackers in place for the knights to deal with.

It was clear from the start that Killians' comrades had the matter well in hand, so with a quick gesture, he led his party into the mill. The secret passage was hidden behind what looked like a pile of grain sacks, which swung aside to reveal a flight of stone steps. Thankfully, this was no tunnel, but a passage, stone-lined and well-maintained, though narrow. It twisted and turned, rose and dipped, following the hills but fortunately staying clear of the lake and its waters.

Leliana carried a dark lantern, but for the most part they relied on Hendel, who, as a Dwarf, could see like a gimlet in the dark. They met with nothing until they came to a dead end. Then they needed Lelianas' lantern to reveal the socket - like the one in the mill -into which Bann Teagans' signet fitted. There was a soft click, and the door swung silently open. The three slipped through, and the false wall closed behind them with another quiet click.

"Best-maintained secret passage I've through in in a long time!" Killian commented. "Usually they're forgotten, unstable and full of rats and spiders."

Hendel shrugged. "The stonework was less sloppy than some I've seen since I left Orzammar."

Leliana chuckled softly. "It is but thirty years since the Orlesians were driven out of Ferelden." She told him. "Arl Eamon fought in that war, as did his sister. When you consider that, a volatile Bannorn and the possibility of who knows what coming out of the mountains, it makes sense to keep your escape route in good repair.

"Every _chateau_ and mansion in Orlais has at least three such passages. We Fereldans are less paranoid."

"You're Fereldan?" Killian asked. "Excuse me, your accent is slight, but..."

"I know." She replied. "I was born in Orlais, but my mother was Fereldan – maid to an elderly Orlesian lady who had tried to live in Ferelden during the occupation. Lady Cecilie had not been cruel or oppressive to her Fereldan serfs, but when Maric won, and the serfs became freeholders again, they chose a new Bann, and he promptly ordered Lady Cecilie to pack up and go back to Orlais. My father died before I was born, and my mother had nobody, so Lady Cecilie took her with her. Mother died when I was very young, but Lady Cecilie kept me by her -she had grown fond of me. I consider myself Fereldan, but I never set foot in this country until I was an adult."

They had been speaking softly, though no guards were apparent, and examining the room as they did so. It was not a very large room, and showed signs of being used for two very different purposes. On one side, there was a stack of crates, boxes, chests and other items typical of a lumber room. The other side, however, had shackles let into the wall, a brazier, a chest containing assorted whips and irons, a rack and another long table with fetters built into it and a large wooden tub under one end.

"This probably started out as a store-room," Leliana remarked, "but the Orlesian occupiers must have converted it to other uses at one time. Then the Arl must have turned it into a lumber room. Fereldans may occasionally beat the truth out of a prisoner with their fists, but they don't go in for systematic torture – that's an Orlesian or Antivan habit."

"Which explains," Hendel noted, "why most of this gear is half rusted away. But somebody has been beaten here." He was examining the floor under one of the sets of shackles. "Blood - three or four days old, I'd guess, but no older."

Leliana was looking at the long table with the tub. Now she dipped her fingers into the tub and sniffed them. "Not fresh, but not rank, either." She told them. "Less than a week ago, the water torture was used here. It's a uniquely Orlesian form of torment..." She broke off, her eyes suddenly haunted.

"I gather the Arlessa is Orlesian." Killian said. "Maybe that explains it. But it doesn't give us the who or why. Let's move on."

It took only seconds for Leliana to pick the lock on the door leading to the dungeon. It was a thick, heavy door, which had masked any sounds from the other side, but as soon as it was open, they heard a mans' voice yelling. "Get away! Help, somebody!"

At the far end of the corridor, three undead were fumbling around a cell door. The lock was clearly too much for them, so they were swiping through the bars at whoever was inside. As soon as they became aware of the newcomers, they charged, only to go down under Killians' sword, Hendels' axe and Lelianas' deftly-wielded daggers.

There was a moments' silence, then the voice came from the cell again, a wavering tenor. "Hello? Is anybody out there? Anybody alive?"

The three approached the door. Inside the cell was a tall, skinny young man in what looked like mage robes – though rather worn. He was pale-faced, with lank dark hair, a weak jaw and a petulant mouth.

"You don't look like the Arlessas' guards!" He said. "Are you from outside?"

"We're Grey Wardens." Killian told him. "Come to look for the Arl."

"Grey Wardens?" The mage shook his head. "Better than Templars, I suppose, but not by much. My name is Jowan, I am – was – tutor to the Arls' son, Connor."

"He's not telling us everything, I can tell." Leliana murmured.

Killian nodded, then said. "Two things, lad. What are you doing locked up down here, and why would the Arl need a mage to tutor his son?"

"I'm not..." Jowan began, then threw up his hands. "All right! I'm a mage, an apostate!

"Look, I was making a bare living as a hedge wizard in the Bannorn, when I was arrested. But instead of handing me over to the Templars, the soldiers took me to Teyrn Loghain. It seems that Lady Isolde was looking for a mage outside the Circle to tutor her son. Connor had begun to show _signs_ , you see, and she was terrified that the Chantry would take him away and give him to the Circle. She wanted someone to teach him how to hide his magic.

"Somehow, Loghain had found out about this, and he made me an offer. If I infiltrated the Arls' household, and poisoned the Arl, Loghain would make things right for me with the Circle. You see, I'm a maleficar, a Blood Mage."

Killian blinked. Back in the Enchanted Realms, blood magic was considered bad news. Even the Crocodile and Regina avoided using it. He turned to his companions.

"I'm not from around here. Is that as bad as I think it is?" He asked.

Hendel shrugged. "Damned if I know." He said. "Dwarfs can't do magic, and a lot of it doesn't affect us much. But since I've been up here, I've heard Chantry priests getting hot under the collar about Blood Mages from time to time."

Leliana shook her head. "Of all magics, blood magic is the darkest. It is said in the Chant of Light that the Archons of the Tevinter Imperium used it often. It was blood magic that allowed them to invade the Seat of the Maker at the heart of the Fade, and taint it with their sin, so it became the Black City. So it was that the Maker cast them back to the earth, where they became the first Darkspawn. That, they say, is why the Maker turned His back on us, and why the Chantry forbids the study of blood magic."

"So," Killian turned back to Jowan, "you're the one behind all this?"

"No!" Jowan exclaimed. "I admit, I poisoned the Arl. I was so clumsy about it that they caught me and locked me up here. But the rest I knew nothing about until the Arlessa came here with her guards and demanded that I reverse what I'd done. I though she meant the poison, and when I told her I knew nothing about the rest, she didn't believe me. She had me tortured, but of course I had nothing to tell.

"But I've been thinking about it since. Look, I didn't teach Connor any real magic – I was trying to teach him to hide it. But he's mage-born, and like all mages, he can control his dreams, remain conscious in the Fade. If he were afraid or foolish enough, he might have done something to let a demon through. A demon could easily do all this."

Jowan stepped forward and grasped the bars. "Let me out of here!" He pleaded. "I need to make this right!"

Killian looked him up and down with some sympathy, but it was Hook who replied. "Sorry, matey, but I wouldn't trust you as far as you could throw me. You'll stay right there until we're done here, then we'll decide what to do with you."

He lead the party into the next room – a more obvious storeroom – where the pattern for the rest of the night was established as more walking corpses attacked them. This job was clearly no sinecure, as every room held one or more of the undead. On the other hand, whether guards or no, these creatures had no real organisation. None of them tried to raise an alarm. In fact they made no sound at all, even as they died for a second time. Only one trap had been set as well- a tripwire which Leliana spotted yards off and deftly disarmed.

It quickly became clear that these were the servants' quarters and working parts of the castle. In short order they cleared several comfortably but simply furnished bedrooms, two workshops, a kitchen and pantry and some store-rooms, as well as a larger room lined with beds which clearly served the lower-ranking servants.

There was one exception, however. A large, well-appointed room which was clearly a chapel of some kind. Instead of undead here, they met three wraithlike creatures who attacked with intent and intelligence. Fortunately, in order to attack, they had to become solid and so vulnerable. Still, it was a hard fight. Killian and Hendel stood back-to-back in the centre of the room while the wraiths circled, intangible. Leliana stood in the doorway – the wraiths, for whatever reason, did not cross the threshold – with her bow ready. Whenever a wraith turned solid to attack, Leliana would put an arrow into it. This not only wounded the creature, but threw it off-guard long enough for one of the fighters to get in a good hit. The wraiths did not go down easily, but down they went.

One of the servants' bedrooms was firmly locked. Leliana picked the lock, only to discover that the door was also bolted on the inside. Her keen ears, however, caught the sound of scared sobbing from within. A little gentle persuasion brought the occupant out; a tall, rawboned young woman with a plain, square face who identified herself as Valena, maid to the Arlessa. She was badly frightened, but determinedly hanging on to a rather dented warming-pan. She told them she had used it to drive one of the undead out of her room before locking herself in. A little more questioning revealed that she was in fact the daughter of Owen, the village blacksmith, who Cormac had promised to rescue. They advised her to go back into her room and bolt the door again, for now.

However, once the resident undead were cleared, the three were left in a quandary. There were only three doors out of the servants' area. One in the chapel, one in the kitchen and one at the end of a passage from a store-room under the pantry. The ones in the kitchen and chapel were both barred from the other side, beyond Lelianas' ability to pick, and both were sturdy, iron-bound portals.

"We'd need Shale to get these down!" Hendel noted.

The passage from the store-room opened onto the castle courtyard. From it, they could see three or four undead, simply standing around. The portcullis, they noted, was closed. Killian decided they needed to speak to Valena – she knew the castle better than any of them. After they had explained matters to her, she shrugged.

"The only way into the main family area is through the great doors from the courtyard." She said. "They won't be barred, because the mechanism is a Dwarven one, and only four people know how to work it. The Arl, who's sick, Bann Teagan, who's in the village, you tell me, the Knight-Commander of the Guard and the Chamberlain. The Knight-Commander was sent in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes when the Arl fell ill, and the Chamberlain was one of the first to die and be made undead.

"But there are many undead in the main part of the Castle -the three of you would be overwhelmed."

"We need to get the others." Killian decided. "But it would take hours to get a decent force through that tunnel."

"Excuse me." Valena put in. "But if you can get to the portcullis, it's easy to open. It's another Dwarf mechanism, counter-weighted so all you have to do is pull the lever on the wall. I've seen scullery-maids open it to let delivery carts in.

"I can run fast. If you show me this secret passage, I can get to the village and take a message to your friends, if they're still alive. The sun's coming up, so the undead will be retreating, if there are any left. I should be safe."

This seemed sensible -at least no more risky than anything else – so they agreed. They took Valena to the dungeon, past Jowan, who had clearly decided that the best way he could help was to go to sleep, to the secret entrance. There Killian gave her the signet.

"You're looking for Cormac the Grey Warden, or Bann Teagan." He told her. "Tell them to bring as many people as they can to the gate, and signal us when they're ready."

As they made their way back to the courtyard, Hendel remarked. "Let's hope Cormac is still alive!"

"Oh, he _has_ to be!" Leliana burst out. It occurred to Killian that her concern wasn't only for the success of their mission.

"Don't worry." He said. "If anyone down there is still standing, it'll be Cormac. Didn't you _see_ the way he was swinging that bloody great pig-sticker of his?"

They took another survey of the courtyard. The undead sentinels didn't patrol, they simply stood where they were, not even looking around. It occurred to Killian that whatever magic animated the things, it only made them react when potential prey came to their attention. He pointed this out to his companions.

"Well if that's the case," Leliana said, "we have an advantage. There's a lot of cover around the edge of the courtyard, barrels and crates and carts and things. I could sneak round and get near the gate. Then when our friends come, I'll be able to open it straight away to let them in before any other guards arrive."

"You have some odd skills, for a minstrel." Killian remarked.

"I'm not just a minstrel," she told him, "I am a Bard. When we have time, I will explain the difference."

With that, she was gone. The girl was good, Killian had to admit. Even though he knew she was there, she was hard to follow, and as soon he took his eyes off her, he was unable to find her again.

Hendel grunted, then sat down on the floor, just inside the doorway.

"Code of the soldier." He told Killian. "Never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down..."

"And if you can lie down, go to sleep!" Killian finished. "My crew called it the Seamans' Code."

Hendel laughed and gestured Killian to sit opposite him. "It'll be a while before our allies arrive." He advised. "Take it easy while you can."

Killian sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"How do you humans stand up without getting nosebleeds?" Hendel wondered.

Killian chuckled, then asked. "So how did you become a Grey Warden?"

Hendel gave him a droll look. "I drank some Darkspawn blood, choked, passed out, then woke up, same as you." Then he shook his head. "Of course, it's more complicated than that. My full name is Hendel Aeducan – _Prince_ Hendel Aeducan, if you want to be picky about it. I'm the second son of King Endrik Aeducan, the ninth King of House Aeducan to rule Orzammar.

"You must understand, Ser Killian, there are three realities to the life of a noble in Orzammar. Family honour, fighting the Darkspawn and politics. My older brother Trian, the heir designate, was all about honour and tradition – which basically meant that he threw his weight about, disapproved of virtually everything, and generally acted as if he owned the place. My younger brother, Bhelen, let everybody think he was just a playboy Prince. He had a taste for fine wine, good food and he kept a string of mistresses.

"All I ever wanted to be was a soldier. You see, whatever has gone on up here, the Dwarfs of Orzammar and Kal-Sharok have been at constant war with the Darkspawn for centuries, underground. So I grew up wanting only to fight the Darkspawn. To bring honour to myself and my family as a soldier and a commander. Beyond that, three square meals a day and a little female company from time to time was the limit of my ambition.

"So the day came when I was given my first command, an expedition into the Deep Roads to clear a new Darkspawn incursion. I was to lead one of the forces, Trian another and my father a third. By chance, Duncan was there with a force of Grey Wardens, set to explore deeper into the Roads in order to confirm their suspicions that a Blight was beginning.

"Well, the night before the expedition, Bhelen came to me and warned me that Trian wanted me dead. He told me that certain factions in the Council were keen to have me inherit the throne. You see, Dwarf kings are elected by the Council of Nobles, and though the reigning King can designate an heir, the Council can overrule that in favour of someone else. Father is old, and the Council were already beginning to consider the succession. Bhelen told me Trians' arrogance had made him unpopular, and that some people preferred me.

"I'd never bothered with politics, or tried to curry favour with the Council. I didn't like all the backstabbing, bribery and intimidation that goes on. I prefer to settle issues face to face, or if necessary blade to blade. So I told Bhelen that I had no ambitions on the throne, but that I'd be watching my back. I hoped that would be enough to stop Trian doing anything foolish. Trian knew he was no match for me in a fight.

"Come the day, and I've been assigned a special mission, to lead a small scouting force to an abandoned _thaig_ and recover an important Aeducan heirloom, lost for centuries. Everything went fine, by which I mean we met some Darkspawn and killed them, until we got to the _thaig_ itself. When we got there, we found the gate open – something that could only be done with an Aeducan signet ring – and a gang of Dwarf mercenaries already there. They looked like the belonged to one of the _cartas_ – the criminal gangs who all but rule the slums of Orzammar – but they weren't giving anything away, and we had to kill them. But we got what we'd come for – a shield that belonged to my ancestor, the Paragon Aeducan.

"So back we go to the rendezvous point, and that's where things went sour. Because my brother Trian was there, stone dead. His throat had been cut and his signet taken. Then, before I could even take it all in, along comes Bhelen with my father and a couple of council members in tow, accusing me of murdering Trian! At which point all the scouts who were with me, except my second Gorim, swear black, blue and coloured that it _was_ me!

"Next thing I know, I'm in prison, awaiting trial. Only there wasn't one. Bhelen, it seems, had been building up a faction in the Council for years, and his people forced a sentence of exile to the Deep Roads straight through. That's a death sentence, because they give you a shield and a dagger, and seal you in with the Darkspawn to kill as many as you can before they get you. All I had was a tip-off from someone in the Council that Duncan and the Wardens were still in the Roads, and that if I could find them, they might help me out.

"As you might imagine, I was in no very pleasant mood by then, and the Darkspawn suffered for it! By the time I found Duncan, I'd managed to loot some armour and an axe, so I was in decent shape. Decent enough to impress Duncan, who recruited me on the spot. I ended up in the Warden compound in Denerim, with Alistair and a City elf named Tyro. Duncan got a message and dashed off to the Brecilian Forest, came back a week later with Elana in tow, and we were all Joined at the same time. Poor Tyro didn't make it, though.

"Then we got the order to move down to Ostagar. The rest you know."

"So I presume," Killian ventured, "that after the Blight is dealt with, it's back to Orzammar and a touching reunion with little brother Bhelen?"

Hendel shook his head. "No, I think not. Bhelen may be a treacherous, backstabbing murderer, but he's also brilliant, and a born politician. He'll be a far better King than I could be.

"No, Ser Killian, I _like_ being a Grey Warden. I can sleep without my hand on a knife-hilt and one eye open. I have friends and comrades who are just that, not hangers-on looking for advancement. I have a job to do that's well worth the doing. I wouldn't change a damn thing, except I'd like to know what became of Gorim – all I know is that he was exiled to the surface.

"Only thing I miss is Dwarf women. These lanky human wenches with their flat chests and pointy faces don't do anything for me!"

Killian chuckled. "I can imagine!" He said. "Y'know, back where I came from, they say Dwarfs are taciturn."

"Compared to Elves, we are!" Hendel told him.

Then a bright purple flare shot into the sky from outside the portcullis and exploded with a boom above the courtyard!

"That would be Morrigan." Killian noted, getting to his feet. "Subtle as ever!"

Leliana popped out of nowhere near the gate and pulled the lever. The portcullis rose smoothly, quickly and with surprisingly little noise, to admit Cormac, Elana, Alistair, Bann Teagan and Ser Perth at the head of the knights of Redcliffe, Morrigan, Shale and Rufus. The undead sentries finally reacted, for all the good it did them. Killian and Hendel had time enough to reach their friends before a swarm of walking corpses came out of the open great doors and attacked.

It had clearly been a long night for their allies, Killian noted. Nicked blades, dented armour and a few minor injuries were all in evidence. But the company were whole and dour-handed and in no mood to tolerate zombies. There was no mad dash for the doors, but a systematic extermination of every undead they could find.

Still, it was not long before they were inside the castle, in a small entrance hall. Here they paused.

"Teagan, where would the Arl and his family be?" Cormac asked.

"In the family quarters, my lord." Teagan replied. "I can lead us there."

"Right!" Cormac said. "Alistair, you know this castle as well as anyone. Take Hendel, Leliana, Shale and a couple of knights and scour the place. I don't want any undead left..undead.

"Ser Perth, you and the rest of the knights secure the perimeter. Killian, Morrigan and Elana, you're with me. Lead on, Teagan!"

In the event, they did not have to go far, only to the Great Hall. There they faced half-a-dozen castle guards. Not undead, this time, but wooden-faced and empty-eyed. Behind the guards, on a dais supporting a large, elaborate wooden chair, stood two figures.

One was a woman, shortish, with a matronly figure and fair, braided hair. She looked to be in her early thirties and would have been lovely, were it not for the marks of fear and worry in her face. The other was a boy, perhaps eleven, with short fair hair and a thin face.

As soon as they entered, the woman burst out, in a strongly-accented alto, "Teagan! Eet is you! Sank ze Maker! I 'ad feared you were dead!"

"Isolde!" Teagan answered, equally surprised. "What is happening here? Is Connor all right?"

"I am far better than 'all right', Uncle!" This was the boy, his voice oddly deep and hollow, as if it came from deeper inside him than his throat. "I take it that you are responsible for spoiling my fun? You and these others? That must be answered for!"

He stepped forward, and his eyes suddenly glowed with an eerie, violet light.


	6. Chapter 6

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Six: A Possessed Child**

 _It is madness and cruelty that define an Abomination."_

 _Senior Enchanter Wynne_

Emma was more than a little amused by her son and his new friend. Henry and Sirius were poring over every volume and magazine in Henrys' extensive fantasy library with the intense air of scientists engaged in top-level research.

"What about this?" Sirius asked. "This book? _The Subtle Knife,_ they call it. The main character spends his time trotting between all these alternate universes. D'you suppose this knife is real, somewhere? Or could your mother make one for me? If I could work out the right spells, I might be able to do it myself."

"Dunno." Henry admitted. "The Dwarves could probably make a knife. Or there might be one in Mr Golds' shop that's already magic, that you could work with.

"But you'd still have to know where to go. I think I have an idea about that. If everything in fiction is real, somewhere, then there's one place you could get anywhere from."

He indicated the large pile of books he'd been looking through. "This guy's a Brit fantasy author who was big during the '70s. All his heroes are the same guy, just in different universes, but the most important thing for you is that he talks about this one city, Tanelorn, that exists in every universe."

"How does that help?" Emma heard herself ask, and immediately regretted it.

Henry gave her a pitying look. "It helps, Mom, because if our theory is right, then there must be a Tanelorn _here_ , in this universe. If we can find it, Sirius can go there."

"And if I have something like this Subtle Knife," Sirius added, "it would be easier to use there. This Tanelorn must be closer to other universes than anywhere else."

"I guess." Emma allowed. "Well, this Tanelorn shouldn't be so hard to find. Second star on the right until you hit the yellow brick road, then take the intersection for Lothlorien!"

Henry shook his head. "You forgot the left turn at Albuquerque!"

"Nah," said Emma, getting the last word as she left them to it, "that'd take you downtown!"

"Creators!" Elana hissed, "The boy is possessed!"

"No!" Isolde cried. "Don't say zat! Connor, please, do not 'urt anyone!"

The boy covered his eyes and swayed for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were human, the eyes of a frightened child. "M..Mother?" He wavered, in the voice of the boy he was. "Mother, I'm scared!"

"Oh, sank ze Maker!" Isolde dropped to her knees beside him and reached for him. "Connor! Connor, can you 'ear me?"

Connor pushed her away roughly. His eyes were glowing, and his voice had changed again. "Get away from me, woman!" He roared. "I'm growing tired of your whining!"

Then he turned to Teagan. "So, Uncle, it was you and your friends that killed the soldiers I sent to reclaim my rebellious village? That was very impolite of you, not at all respectful to your Arl."

"Eamon is dead?" Teagan asked, aghast.

"No, Teagan, Eamon lives!" Isolde burst out. "Eet was that mage! 'E caused all zis! Connor was just trying to 'elp 'is father!"

"It was a fair deal!" Connor snapped. "Father is alive, just as I wanted, and now it's my turn to rule, to conquer!"

He glared at them all for a moment, and in the pause, Morrigan spoke from behind Killian and Cormac. Softly, but clearly and urgently she said: "The guards here are not possessed or undead. The demon controls their minds through the boy. Render them unconscious and they will awake themselves again."

Then Connor was shouting again. "You spoiled my fun, Uncle! Time to teach you a lesson! Guards!"

The guards lumbered forward, clearly not at the top of their form. Mindful of Morrigans' words, Killian and Teagan used the flats of their blades, along with pommel strikes, to knock their opponents out. Cormac did not even draw his blade, his mailed fists sufficed.

But with each blow, Connor flinched as if struck himself, and as the last guard went down, he too collapsed. Morrigan dashed forward, chanting under her breath and gesturing with her staff. A barrier, like a whirlwind made of white light, sprang up around the boy.

"There!" She said. "That should hold him for now. But I cannot maintain it indefinitely, alone."

What followed was an attempt to get a clear idea of events from the near-exhausted and half-hysterical Arlessa. Cormac and Killian left Elana and Teagan to alternately scold and cajole her into making sense. By the time they had her calmed, Alistair and the others had returned, reporting that the castle was now clear of undead, the armoury and the still-comatose Arl secured.

The last piece of news had an even more calming effect on Isolde, who seemed to lose her Orlesian accent along with her excitement. She explained that, yes, Connor had begun to show signs of having magic. Though a devout woman, she could not face the thought of her only child being taken away to the Circle of Mages, never to return home. Who, she asked with a dark look at Alistair, would inherit the Arldom then? As a mother and as Arlessa, she could not and would not risk the loss of her son. So, she had sought the help of an apostate mage, one outside the Circle who could teach Connor to hide his magic. But Ferelden was not Orlais, there were no Bards who she could employ to find her such a mage. Instead, she had relied on a certain less-than-honest Captain of Templars, who had brought her Jowan. Everything, she said, had gone wrong since, and Jowan must be to blame.

So Jowan was fetched from the dungeons to explain himself. He held to his story, that all he had done was poison the Arl. Whatever happened after, he said, he had had no active part in.

"But," he admitted, "I had taught Connor something about demons, and the dangers of the Fade. I had to, because when ordinary people sleep, they take a little bit of the Fade and turn it into a twisted reflection of the world they know. But mages, those with magical talent, can break through into the real Fade, and that's when things get dangerous. If Connor was upset enough about his father, he could have attracted the attention of a demon, and it might well have talked him into a bargain."

Alistair sighed. "I wouldn't normally suggest killing a child, especially this one." He said grimly. "But if the boy is an Abomination, what choice do we have?"

"'Tis unusual for a demon to possess a child in this way." Morrigan noted. "An adult Abomination is a monstrous, distorted thing. The demon within twists and changes the body in order that it might contain the power. But a childs' body is not robust enough to withstand the change. Usually, the demon merely uses the child as its eyes and ears, a foothold into this world, whilst it remains in the Fade, waiting its time. This demon must be very impatient, more so than most, to openly use the boy as it does."

"But that gives us a chance." Jowan said. "The demon isn't within Connor, physically. It's still in the Fade. Killing Connor would cut off its foothold here, but leave it free to seek out another victim. On the other hand, there is magic that can send a mage into the Fade to confront and kill the demon there, without harming Connor."

"Can you do this, Jowan?" Isolde asked eagerly.

Jowan grimaced. "There are two rituals that I know, Lady Isolde. One requires lyrium and several mages. The other, well the other requires blood magic. I can use the life-energy, the blood, of another person to open a way into the fade for another mage. But the ritual needs a lot of blood, all of it, in fact."

"Then let it be my blood!" Isolde declared. "I will gladly sacrifice my life for Connor!"

"Isolde! You can't mean that!" Teagan exclaimed. "Eamon would never allow it!"

"If anyone here thinks," Alistair said flatly, "that I'm going to allow someone to use blood magic, they've got another think coming. I may not be a Templar any more, but there are lines you don't cross!"

"Hold on just a moment!" Killian said. "Jowan, you said there was another ritual?"

"Yes." Jowan nodded. "But as I said, you need more mages and some lyrium to do it."

"Well, if I remember the map right," Killian pointed out, "the Tower of Mages is about a days' march from here, north along the lake-shore. Probably less by boat."

"You're right!" Cormac said. "We could go to the mages and ask for help."

"That is a better alternative." Teagan agreed. "Though you'd have to go on foot. The mages put a barrier across the lake a long time ago to stop... things... from near the Tower getting into the waters Redcliffe people fish in, and to stop the fishermen getting too close to the Tower."

"But do we have the time?" Isolde asked. "Connor will wake soon, will he not?"

"He will." Morrigan said. "But the demon cannot use its full power without killing the boy. That cage will hold him, but I cannot maintain it alone. I am not Flemeth -she could have held him forever, but I must sleep sometimes."

"Jowan," Cormac asked, "can you keep the barrier in place while Morrigan rests?"

"I can," Jowan replied, "if you trust me to do it."

"I do not need to trust you." Teagan told him. "I will be standing behind you the whole time, sword in hand. If the cage goes on your watch, your head goes with it!"

"Right!" Cormac said. "Morrigan, you'll stay here and keep an eye on Connor and Jowan. Make sure neither of them gets out. Rufus will stay as well – there's no better guard.

"Killian, Alistair and Leliana will come with me to the Tower.

"In the meantime, is there anything we can do for the Arl?"

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes." Isolde said eagerly. "Andrastes' Ashes will cure my husband. They must be found. We had word of a scholar in Denerim, a Brother Genitivi, who might know something."

"Worth a try, I suppose." Cormac allowed. "Hendel, Elana and Shale, you three go to Denerim and see if you can find this Genitivi."

"Um, won't they stand out a bit?" Killian asked. "A Dwarf, a Dalish Elf and a Golem?"

Elana laughed. "Never been to Denerim, Killian? A Darkspawn could walk through the market square in a plumed hat and shocking pink britches and only have to worry about getting his purse cut! If you're armed and paying, nobody cares who or what you are!"

"Good enough." Alistair said. "Then that just leaves one more thing to do before we go."

He walked up to Jowan. "You're the one who poisoned Arl Eamon, right?"

"Yes," said Jowan wearily, "that was me."

"Just wanted to be sure." Alistair said. "So tell me, do you know what the Rite of Tranquility is?"

"Of course I do!" Jowan snapped.

Alistairs' fist crashed into the mages' jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, sending Jowan to the floor, out cold.

"Well that," Alistair told the unconscious man, "is the Left of Tranquility!"

When all was said and done, though, the fact was that none of them had slept the previous night, and now the afternoon was wearing on. The Arlessa proved a generous, if somewhat distracted, hostess, leaving her guests in the care of her surviving servants and the castle in the care of Bann Teagan, while she divided her time between her unresponsive husband and the awake but cowed and sullen Connor.

Valena had already returned with a draft of villagers to help out, and a gift of Dwarf-made chainmail from her father as a thank-you. This Hendel promptly appropriated.

They had a meal – simple but ample – and were offered hot baths and comfortable beds, for a change. Killian was no pampered city-boy, but he appreciated the change from bivouacking. Leliana was almost ecstatic. Then they turned in early.

Killian was standing at the window of his room, enjoying a last goblet of wine, when he noticed Elana. The Dalish woman had slipped out of the castle, wearing a cloak and carrying a blanket. As Killian watched, she found a spot in the garden that took up most of the inner courtyard, under an ancient tree. She dropped her cloak – apparently immune to the cold, as she wore little or nothing beneath – rolled herself in the blanket, and settled down.

As he watched, Alistair had come quietly into the room to stand beside him. Now he said; "We had a storehouse with a flat roof at the compound in Denerim. She used to sleep up there. The Dalish have aravels – landships – they travel in, but only the very old or the very young actually sleep in them, except in the depths of winter. Elana can't sleep well under a roof. Hendel, on the other hand, finds it hard to sleep in the open air. I suppose it's what you're used to.

"The last time I slept here, at Redcliffe, it was above the stables, in the straw. Now I suppose I'm more used to Chantry dormitories or barracks.

"Anyway, Cormac said I should speak with you."

"About what?" Killian asked.

"About me." Alistair replied. "I told Cormac, and he said you should know as well, just in case. Look, I told you I didn't know who my father was, right? Well, I'm afraid I wasn't being honest, but there was – is – a good reason for that.

"You see, my father was King Maric."

Killian looked at the lad, who stood there, shame-faced. "I thought you looked familiar when I first met you." He said. "But I only saw King Cailan the once, and I was sort of distracted. But I see the resemblance now. You're shorter and stockier than he was, and your face is more square, but you have the same eyes and mouth. Did he know you were his half-brother?"

"He might have, now I come to think of it." Alistair allowed. "That might be why I got the impression that he and Duncan were conspiring to keep me out of the fighting. Not that I was ever interested in the throne – I'd make a terrible king!

"But Cormac had to know, because Arl Eamon knows, and it's going to make a difference, especially with Loghain staring a civil war. He said you should know as well, because he's almost as big a target as I am. Not because he's a Grey Warden, but because he's the last of the Couslands.

"You see, the Couslands have been Teyrns of Highever since before King Calenhad united the Alamarri clans to create Ferelden. If there are no Theirins left, then it's quite possible that the Landsmeet would elevate the next most noble family in Ferelden to the throne – and that would be the Couslands. So Arl Rendon Howe of Amarinthine betrayed and massacred Cormacs' family – including his sister-in-law and little nephew. Then the only other survivor – Cormacs' older brother Fergus – disappeared in the Wilds just before Ostagar. We have to assume he's dead as well.

"If Loghain knows about me – and he might, he was Marics' best friend – and Cormac, we're both walking around with targets on our backs. Even though we are Grey Wardens and supposed to stay out of politics.

"So we need you to watch out, Killian. We're both too green, too trusting. You've been there and done that, you'll know who to trust and who not to, better than Cormac or I could.

"So now you know. And we'd both better get some sleep!"

Killian had decided that Ferelden must be south of this worlds' equator. Though autumn was clearly closing in, the weather had grown milder, rather than colder, as they had headed north into the Bannorn. Which was all to the good, as this was far better weather for a longish march.

They had all taken the opportunity to re-equip while in Redcliffe, the Arlessa had given them the run of the Armoury there. Alistair had found nothing to equal the heavy steel chainmail he had looted in Lothering, but he had exchanged his wooden shield for a steel one and obtained a new sword, a long, slightly curved weapon in the Dalish style, forged of a dark green metal he called 'veridium'. Cormac had eschewed the heavy mail, explaining that the bulkier armour cramped his swing, but had exchanged his grey iron suit for a similar one in steel; he had also been gifted a new helm by Bann Teagan. Killian had gladly relinquished the, by now rather battered, studded leather he had 'inherited' from Daveth for an outfit in tougher but lighter hardened leather. Leliana had contented herself with swapping her old ash longbow for a yew one.

As Cormac and Leliana walked ahead, talking softly together, Alistair said quietly to Killian: "Those two are getting along famously, aren't they?"

"Jealous?" Killian asked.

"Maker, no!" Alistair shook his head. "I don't know much about women, but I do know I prefer them with more meat on their bones than Leliana has!"

"Don't know much about women?" Killian asked, then. "Of course, you were in a monastery until six months ago!"

Alistair nodded. "The only women I saw there were the Chantry priestesses who looked after the brothers' spiritual needs. Usually old women with hatchet faces and tongues steeped in vinegar! But brothers and Templars are sworn to celibacy -it was drilled into us that the Maker took a dim view of His servants getting up to any shenanigans. Not that that stopped some of the brothers groping the prettier boys.

"Apparently, though, He's less fussy about what Grey Wardens get up to. But after all those years, I don't seem to have the knack with women. I either panic and make a joke of it, or just say something stupid so they go off in a huff!"

Killian chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Your time will come, lad!"

"Unless the Darkspawn or Loghain get to me first!" Alistair replied. "Anyway, enough about me. So how does this Empire of America work?"

"The Empire," said Killian, thinking fast, "consists of fifty separate countries – 'states' we call them – covering virtually the whole of a continent..."

The tension and fear were almost palpable as the four walked into the entrance-hall of the Circle Tower.

"Oh, this is bad!" Alistair murmured.

They had arrived at the docks as night fell. Cormac had had words – many words and few to the point – with an old fellow named Kester. It seemed that Kester had run the ferry service to and from the Tower for years, but just a day or so before, Templars had come from the Tower and commandeered his landing and boat "Until the situation improves." What 'the situation' was remained unclear. Taking Killians' advice, they had spent the night at a gloomy inn called _The Spoiled Princess_. In the morning, they had had to bully the officious young Templar who was in charge of the boat into taking them across. Now, they were beginning to understand why.

A tall, grizzled Templar was giving orders. "I want two men on that door at all times." His voice was even, but there was strain in it. "Nothing and nobody is to come in or go out without my express orders. Is that clear?"

Then he noticed the new arrivals: "What are you doing here?" He demanded. "I gave Carroll strict instructions not to bring anyone across! For your own safety, you should leave at once!"

"Knight-Commander Greagoir?" Alistair hazarded.

"Yes, I am he." Geagoirs' eyes narrowed. "I know you, do I not? Alistair of Redcliffe?"

"Yes, Ser Greagoir." Alistair responded. "You visited the monastery I was at some months ago. I am surprised you remember me."

Greagoir nodded. "I visited the monastery seeking new recruits for the Tower guard. You were pointed out to me as one of the most promising novices, due to take your vows soon. I requested you, but when the new draft came, you were not there. The novice-master told me you had left the Order without taking vows. Why was that?"

Alistair shrugged. "It seems you were not the only one to see me as promising. Shortly after you left, I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

Greagoir shook his head. "At times, I grow weary of the Wardens' endless need for warriors to fight the Darkspawn, but it is their right. Are your companions also Wardens, Ser Alistair?"

"Two of them." Alistair replied. "Lord Cormac of Highever, and Ser Killian Jones. This is Mistress Leliana, who has volunteered to accompany us."

"Greetings to you all." Greagoir said. "And apologies for my brusqueness. You find us at a difficult time, and I can spare no men to aid you. As for the mages, they are...indisposed.

"I will be blunt, the Tower is no longer under our control. Demons and Abominations stalk the halls, and I have barely enough men to keep them contained. I have sent to Denerim for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment."

Alistair whistled. "The Right of Annulment? Things must be bad!" In answer to their questioning looks, he explained. "The Right gives the Templars authority to utterly destroy the Circle, kill everything and everyone in the Tower. It's only invoked if the Circle is corrupted beyond redemption."

"The mages aren't defenceless." Cormac said. "Surely some survive? Have you not searched?"

Greagoir shook his head. "The trouble started in the upper reaches of the Tower, among the senior mages. My men managed to get most of the apprentices and children out before it became too dangerous – they were quartered on the ground floor. If any mages survive, the Maker Himself has shielded them.

"But I have too few men for a full search, and it is too painful to hope for survivors and find...nothing."

"Painful?" Alistair was sour. "Since when do a few dead mages bother a Templar?"

There was real pain in Greagoirs' eyes as he replied. "I have served here since I took my vows, Ser Alistair. I have risen to become Knight-Commander here. One does that only by working with the mages, not against them. These people have been given a great gift by the Maker – great but perilous. We Templars watch over them. We give Tranquility to those who choose it, or to those unsuited to mage status. The rest we put through the Harrowing. Those who survive become mages. Those who fail we slay, not as punishment, but as mercy.

"But beyond and beneath the magic, these are people. Men and women like any other, with their own hopes, fears, dreams and loves. There are many in the Circle I respect. Some I might even call friends.

"We Templars are their guardians, not their jailers, whatever the Chantry might say."

"Nobly spoken." Cormac said. "In that spirit, Ser Greagoir, I volunteer myself and my companions to search the Tower for survivors. There is a Blight upon the land, and our need for mages is desperate. If this Circle can be saved, we must make the attempt."

"I warn you," Greagoir said, "an Abomination is a force to be reckoned with!"

"So are the Darkspawn." Cormac pointed out.

Greagoir nodded. "I suppose if anyone is as well-equipped to deal with such things as a Templar, it is a Grey Warden.

"Very well, you have my leave. It will be several days before the reinforcements from Denerim reach here, so you have that time. But understand this -once that door closes behind you I will not open it again until I have proof that it is safe. Only if the First Enchanter himself stands before me and tells me all is well, will my men stand down. If Irving has fallen, then the Circle is truly lost.

"Maker watch over you."

As the great steel doors closed behind them, Killian once again wondered what the Hell he was doing. He could have walked away from all this a dozen times since Ostagar, yet here he was, putting his neck on the line again. As usual, there was more than one answer. In the first place, he had no idea how to get back to where he belonged. He had to find this Uldred, or find out about him, and here was the best, perhaps the only, place to do that. In the second place, the kids still needed him. Not for long, now, they learned quickly, but just a little longer, until he could see them more or less safe.

 _Blast your eyes, matey!_ Said Hooks' voice in his head. _Have done with your puling and philosophising! There's fights to be had and throats to be slit, what more does a man need?_

Killian grinned to himself. No matter how hard he tried to be responsible, to be good, deep inside he was still the devil-may-care pirate who looked no further than the next fight, the next wench and the next bottle of rum!

"Right!" Alistair was saying. "I know the layout of this place – we had to study it at the monastery because a lot of us were going to be serving here. This place has the biggest force of Templars in Ferelden apart from the Grand Chantry in Denerim.

"This floor has the apprentice and childrens' quarters, the classrooms and training spaces, and the students' library. There's also the Tranquil quarters, the refectory and kitchens. There's a basement below that has the Repository and the Phylactery Chamber, but that's so heavily-warded even an Archdemon couldn't get in. First floor is the mage quarters, stockroom, library, study rooms, guest quarters, mages' dining room, the First Enchanters' office and the chapel. Second floor is where the Senior Enchanters have their rooms; there's also the laboratories where the experimental magic gets done. Third floor is the Templar area – barracks, messes, officers quarters and training rooms. Top floor is the Harrowing Chamber where apprentice mages take their final test. The Chantry priests live in separate quarters on the other side of the island – they won't live in the same building as mages.

"Greagoir said this floor is clear, but we'd still better take care!"

The childrens', apprentice and Tranquil dormitories were indeed empty, but showed signs of having been vacated in a hurry, as did the kitchen and refectory. There were a couple of dead Templars in the corridors, but by the look of them they had taken their death-wounds elsewhere and died in attempts to reach help. The only access to the rest of the ground floor, was through the central hub.

"They keep the living and working areas separate." Alistair said. "Not deliberately, it's just the way the Avvars and Dwarfs who originally built the Tower designed it. They built it to defend against the Imperium, Ages back. The Chantry moved the mages here when the old Tower in Denerim burned down."

"Wasn't the Chantry that burned the Tower, by any chance?" Killian asked.

Alistair shrugged. "They say it was a magical accident. Do you suspect the holy and virtuous priests of Andraste of fraud and arson?"

It was good job Alistair was a strong lad, Killian reflected, that was seriously heavy sarcasm he was tossing about!

Cormac shook his head, then pushed open the heavy door. Inside, Killian saw four or five scared children, two young mages shielding them in a corner, and a tall woman facing something...horrible.

To Killian it looked like a giant, vertical slug. Tall as a man and made of fire, with humanlike arms that reached for the woman. Calmly, she raised her staff and pointed it at the creature. There was a sudden icy cold that chilled the whole chamber. The monster, caught in a direct blast that must have been cold as outer space, gave a scream of rage and pain, before withering away to nothing.

With a nod of satisfaction, the woman turned round. Now that Killian had time to look at her, he realised that the hair he had thought blonde was in fact white. The face, though unlined and handsome, was that of a woman well past her middle years. Her penetrating grey eyes were fixed on Cormac.

"You!" She exclaimed. "What are you doing here? No, come no closer or, Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down!"


	7. Chapter 7

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Seven: Infernal Tower**

" _Magic exists to serve Man, and never to rule over him."_

 _The Prophetess Andraste (attributed)_

Sirius was taking a break. The bottled lager which seemed to be the only kind of beer here was not as good as butterbeer, but it would do for now. He was sitting in a seat on the porch when Regina unexpectedly joined him.

"I was wondering, Mr Black, just how different this world is from the one you come from." She said. "Would I and my little town have survived there, unmolested?"

"Survived, certainly." Sirius replied. "But unmolested? Perhaps not. You must understand, Ms Mills, there is a thriving magical community in my world, which keeps itself rigidly secret from muggles – non-magical people. Had Storybrooke arrived there, it would definitely have drawn the attention of the FBS, the White Council and Dr Strange."

"These people being?" Regina asked.

"The United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery – the FBS – is the governing body of the wizard community in America, as the Ministry of Magic is in Britain." Sirius told her. "The White Council is a body that approximates to the muggle United Nations. Dr Stephen Strange is the Sorceror Supreme – he stands above and apart from wizard government, his role being to protect the world from magical threats of an extraterrestrial or extra-dimensional nature.

"You would most certainly have been investigated and, even if they'd decided you were harmless, there would have been changes. No law prevents wizards from living discreetly among muggles, but magical law prevents wizards from holding positions of authority in muggle communities. You would not have been allowed to become or remain Mayor, nor would Ms Swan have been allowed to head your police force.

"You could have continued to live here, but only as a private citizen, subject to magical law."

"On top of that, there are muggle agencies – I don't know much about them except the names – such as SHIELD and UNIT, who might also be aware of and curious about your arrival."

"I see." Regina nodded. "Fortunate for me, then, that we arrived where we did!"

"For you, perhaps." Sirius said bitterly. "For me, however, it's anything but!"

"Perhaps." Regina said. "But don't be so eager to write us off yet, Mr Black. We will talk more later, you and I."

"Wynne?" Cormac said. "What are you doing here?"

"I am a Mage of the Circle." She pointed out. "Where else would I be? I might with more justice ask what you are doing here, Cormac of the Grey Wardens. You too, Alistair. Oh, yes, I remember you, the poor boy the Revered Mother made run messages to the mages because we all knew you used to be a Templar novice."

"I remember you, too, Enchanter Wynne." Alistair said. "The only mage at Ostagar who didn't yell at me."

Wynne smiled. "The Revered Mother was not the only crafty old lady at Ostagar, son. I used to make the Tranquil take messages to the Chantry priests. Mages upset the priests, but for some reason the Tranquil make them feel guilty.

"But to return to my question. What are you doing here? Has Greagoir sent you to finish us off? Does he believe the Circle truly lost?"

"He has sent for the Right of Annulment." Cormac admitted. "But he is reluctant to exercise it. He has too few men of his own, so he has given us permission to sweep the Tower, dispose of any demons and Abominations we can find, and rescue any surviving mages."

"He must be short of men indeed, if he is prepared to allow Grey Wardens to perform this task." Wynne noted.

"Well, if there's something strange in the neighbourhood," Alistair pointed out, "who are you going to call?"

Leliana deftly swatted Killian between the shoulders and solicitously offered her water-skin. Cormac gave him a look that said clearly that some explanation would be required at a more convenient time.

"Well, if you are indeed here to destroy demons, then I am with you." Wynne told them. "I have erected a barrier over the entrance to the rest of the Tower, to keep the demons out. I will dispel it on one condition – that I come with you."

"Are you sure, Wynne?" This was one of the other mages, a young woman. "You were so badly hurt earlier. Perhaps Kinnon or I should go with the Wardens?"

"No, Petra, you and Kinnon should stay with the children." Wynne said firmly. "You are two of my best students. If we slay every monster we come across, you should be safe here, and if one does slip by us, you are more than capable of handling it. But there may be things in the upper reaches of the Tower that are beyond you.

"So, Grey Wardens, do we have an agreement? If we can clear the Tower, Greagoir will tell his men to stand down, I am sure. He is not unreasonable."

"He says he will only do that if the First Enchanter tells him it's safe." Cormac informed her.

"Then our path is clear." Wynne stated. "We must find Irving. If the Tower still stands, then so does he -he would destroy the Circle himself rather than see it corrupted. No doubt he is in the thick of things as we speak. Are we ready?"

"Good to have you along, Wynne." Cormac said. "Release the barrier and let's get started!"

It took only a moment for Wynne to release her enchantment, but what happened next took them all by surprise. The second the barrier fell, a young mage darted into the room and, ignoring everyone else, made for the entrance to the basement. Once there, he gabbled out a short ritual, which was promptly answered by the appearance of a demon much like the one Wynne had just disposed of, only larger.

The demon struck the boy down, but was promptly attacked from all sides. Under a shower of spells from the three mages, a volley of arrows from Leliana and the swords of the three Grey Wardens, the beast was dispatched in short order.

Wynne knelt beside the young mage. The lad was clearly dying, but he was awake and aware.

"Alun, what were you doing?" Wynne asked.

"The Watchguard." Alun murmured. "The Watchguard of the Reaching. We found the ritual to summon him. Thought he could defend the Tower. Denri, Calum and I. The demons got the others, and I couldn't get through..." His eyes glazed over.

"Shah Wyrd," Wynne sighed, "the Watchguard of the Reaching. A legend as old as this Tower. It's said that the Avvars placed a powerful guard on this door, the door behind which their chief treasures were hidden. A guard who could be summoned if the Tower was in danger.

"Nobody remembers who Shah Wyrd was. How could these poor young mages have known that Shah Wyrd was just another Rage Demon?"

"A Rage Demon who was carrying a very big sword!" Killian noted, picking the weapon up with some difficulty.

"Let me see..." Cormac took the sword from Killian without apparent effort and examined it carefully. "It's ancient." He noted. "Pure silverite, and these runes...Maker's breath! This is Yusaris, the Dragonslayer! There was a book about this in the library at Highever. Dane of the Alamarri is supposed to have found it in a dragons' hoard, before Andraste was born. His son Hafter used it to fight the Darkspawn, but nobody knows what became of Hafter. Perhaps the Avvars found the sword and brought it here. Or perhaps Shah Wyrd killed Hafter and took it."

He swung the sword experimentally, the blade shimmered and sang through the air.

"Looks like it was made for you." Alistair commented.

"Perhaps it was." Wynne said. "I have lived too long, seen too much, to believe in coincidence. That this ancient and mighty blade should emerge now, and come into the hands of so worthy a warrior at a time of such peril. This bears the print of the Makers' hand.

"Take up the sword, Cormac, and wield it well!

"Now, let us be gone!"

Cormac did not have to wait long to try out his new sword. The other side of the ground floor was awash with demons, Abominations and more of the walking dead. This was the first time Killian had seen a true Abomination, and he was surprised at how uniform they were. Bulky, top-heavy creatures with wide shoulders and humped backs, they wore the ragged remnants of mage robes, showing that they had indeed been human, once. Clearly intelligent, their attacks were coordinated, and they made use of magic.

These were some of the toughest fights the party had encountered, but they were well prepared. Wynne might lack the vigour of youth, but her skills were great, and her spells the more effective for that. Alistair had undergone Templar training, which allowed him to resist and occasionally nullify magic -a skill Killian had not seen him use before. Cormac was a force of nature, especially when wielding Yusaris. Leliana was crafty and quick, and an Abomination was as vulnerable as any other being to a knife in the back. As for Killian himself, he discovered that his sword, Oathkeeper, was an object of fear to Abominations and demons alike, and seemed to damage them far more deeply than it had the other foes he had encountered so far.

"A Templar blade, that." Wynne commented after one fight. "The Chantry commissions them from the Dwarfs and then blesses them. How did you come by it?"

"I was given it by a Chanter in Lothering." Killian told her. "As part-payment for a couple of jobs we did for the village."

"Well-earned and well wielded!" Wynne remarked. "Especially for one from so far away!" To his look, she responded. "We will talk later, Ser Killian."

It was clear that, whatever was going on in the rest of the Tower, this lower floor was relatively clear. The demons and Abominations had done some damage, and there were a few mage and wizard corpses, but nothing that could not be repaired.

The first floor, however, was different. Not only were the enemies thicker on the ground, but they were joined by some of the walking dead like the ones at Redcliffe, and by floating beings Wynne called Arcane Horrors. The last were a real menace, hurling devastating bolts of magical energy from a distance. Fortunately they were physically fragile, vulnerable to Lelianas' marksmanship and easily killed at close quarters.

There were clear signs that a good deal of fighting had gone on, with both mage and Templar bodies in evidence. It was also clear that many had died fighting side-by-side against a common foe; a fact that brought a sad smile to Wynnes' face and caused Alistair to mutter "Too little, too late."

But the demonic corruption was not limited to the people. They began to notice areas of the walls and floor where bulging, root-like growths had come through cracks and begun to envelop and eat into the stone. They looked like fungus, were the colour of raw meat, and stank of putrefaction. They set their teeth and carried on.

In a corner of the mage quarters, they found their first survivor, a quietly-spoken mage called Godwin, who had been hiding in a large armoire. This he called a strategy – hiding and being very, very quiet. Not one without risk, however, he complained of a crick in his neck and a numb bum. Godwin wished them well and retreated into his closet, with the hope that they might meet again in "less life-threatening times."

"Godwin always was eccentric." Wynne remarked.

"I thought eccentric was the definition of a mage." Alistair commented.

"I begin to see another reason why the Revered Mother used you as her messenger boy." Wynne replied. "Clearly, she'd rather you exercised that glib mouth on somebody else!"

If the mage quarters were a mess, the Library was a wreck. Obviously a serious battle had gone on here. If more proof of that was needed, it was in the number of corpses that rose from the floor and attacked the party as soon as they entered.

Oddly, the First Enchanters' study was untouched, and a quick search revealed nothing except a few papers.

"Of course," Wynne remarked, "it was silly of me, but I almost expected to find him here!"

The central area was empty except for a lone figure who seemed to be trying to restore order to the place. When he saw them, he came up in an unhurried fashion and spoke in a quiet, even voice.

"Please do not enter the stockroom." He said. "It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen."

"Why didn't you try to escape?" Cormac asked him.

The man didn't even shrug. He simply replied in the same calm tone. "I tried, when things got quieter. But I encountered a barrier I could not pass, so I returned here. "

"How can he be so calm?" Leliana wondered.

"He is one of the Tranquil." Wynne told her quietly. "The Tranquil do not have emotions." She turned to the Tranquil. "Owain, you should have said something! I would have let you through!"

Owain simply replied, "The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here. I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if things went back to the way they were. Perhaps Niall will save us."

"Niall?" Wynne asked. "Niall still lives?"

"I do not know." Owain replied. "He came here with several others and took the Litany of Adralla. I do not know where he went."

"The Litany of Adralla?" Wynne frowned. "That protects against mind domination. Can blood magic be at work here? That would explain much. Niall was at the meeting, he would know."

"Oh, great!" Killian said. "Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse!"

"Having second thoughts?" Alistair asked.

Killian snorted. "We're all bound for Davey Jones' Locker, laddie. I'd rather give the squid-faced old bastard as long a wait as I can, but I'm not scared of meeting him! But I've had my mind fooled with by wizards before, and I don't fancy any more of it!"

"I'm not sure I understood all of that," Cormac said, "but I think we should do our best to find this Niall. If Blood Mages are behind this, the Litany should give us a fighting chance. Let's get moving!"

The chapel had been systematically desecrated, the statue of Andraste thrown down, but it was empty. It was on the next floor that they ran into their first Blood Mages. At first, they looked like a group of survivors, huddled together. But the three Grey Wardens sensed the taint in them at once. As a result, they were able to spring their own surprise attack.

The fight was short and brutal – the spells the Blood Mages cast were altogether nastier than anything Killian had seen here before. If Wynne had not been adept at healing and protection spells, things might have gone badly, but as it was the Blood Mages fell, until only one remained.

"Hold!" She cried suddenly. "I cannot withstand you! Can we not speak?"

"Talk." Cormac said. "Fast."

The Blood Mage was a tall, graceful woman who would have been lovely if not for the harsh set of her mouth and the fires of fanaticism in her eyes.

"I ask only for my life," She said. "and for a moments' hearing. You are Grey Wardens, some of you, not bound to Chantry or King, perhaps you can understand. We sought only our freedom, freedom from the Chantry, the Circle, this Tower. The poorest Elf in the Denerim Alienage, the meanest casteless Dwarf in the slums of Orzammar, have more freedom than the mightiest mage. We sought only what they have, and we are denied!"

"We Grey Wardens are bound to a sterner duty than any you might face, maleficar." Cormac growled. "Have done with your whining!"

"But why this path? Why blood magic?" Wynne asked. "There are other paths to change."

"Hah!" The Blood Mage snarled. "Ever the voice of reason and patience, Wynne. But reason and patience do not bring change. Change springs only from action! Andraste made war upon the Imperium, she did not write the Magisters a strongly-worded letter!

"Uldred taught us that. Encouraged us to study blood magic, because it is the only magic the Chantry truly fears." Her voice turned bitter. "But then he betrayed us, left us to the demons he summoned, and the Abominations they made of our brothers and sisters.

"So now I ask only the chance to flee. To leave the Tower and go into the Wilds or the mountains. Anywhere the Chantry does not hold sway. To live out my life in peace."

"It's too late for that." Alistair told her. "We can see the taint in you. It runs deep and grows stronger. If the Darkspawn don't find you, a demon surely will."

The Blood Mages' gaze turned inward for a moment, then when she looked at them again her eyes were empty.

"You are right, Grey Warden. Make an end, and be swift!"

Cormac raised Yusaris, but Killian stepped in front of him and delivered a single quick thrust to the womans' heart.

"Slick." Cormac remarked. "I was going to behead her."

"Bad idea." Killian told him. "Shipmate of mine did that once. The head fell on his foot and bit three of his toes off before it died!"

"You know some really lovely stories!" Alistair remarked, looking rather green.

The next floor was even more overgrown with demonic fungi. Here they met their worst foes yet. Templars enslaved by a new type of demon. The demons themselves took the form of voluptuous, scantily-clad women with blue skins and curling horns like those of an antelope. These were Desire demons, Wynne told them, more powerful than the Rage and Hunger demons they had met so far. Certainly the charmed Templars showed no side-effects of their state. They fought with all the skill and courage they would have shown had they been themselves. It was hard to kill them, but Wynne said that, even if they were to be released, they would never again be the men they once were.

The Desire demons themselves, despite the apparent frailness of their forms, were tough and dangerous in combat, hard to bring down. Nevertheless, true to their promise to Greagoir, the Warden party swept the rooms, dealing with every monster, maddened knight and ferocious demon they met.

In the last room, they paused to clean their blades, catch their breath and bandage up some of the cuts that Wynnes' healing powers hadn't been able to completely close. Everyone was tired, and hungry. There was no time to rest, but Killian did have some energy bars he had brought with him from Storybrooke and never used.

"Mmm!" Alistair was munching on a peanut flavoured bar. "These are one up on double-baked bread and dried meat!"

"This is delicious!" Leliana gushed. "What do you call this flavour?"

"Chocolate." From the look on her face, Killian suspected he might have created a monster. He hoped that something like chocolate existed elsewhere in Thedas.

Refreshed, they moved on to the central hub of this floor. Almost all of the walls were covered with the fungi in here. Bodies lay around, many dead but others still breathing -deeply asleep. In the midst of it all stood an Abomination, the largest they had yet seen. The room was over-warm, and stuffy, acting on their tired minds and bodies like a soporific. The Abomination turned to them and spoke in a soft, dull voice -the voice of a poor lecturer teaching a tedious subject.

"Ah," it said, "visitors. I'd entertain you...But...Too much effort involved."

"Killing you will be entertainment enough." Cormac mumbled.

"But why?" Asked the Abomination. "Aren't you tired of all of all the violence in this world? I know I am. You deserve more. You deserve...a rest."

They struggled, but it was too much. Something seemed to flow out of the creature. Something that filled them with drowsiness. Not a pleasant drowsiness, but a heavy, aching sleepiness that pulled at them, sucking them down into blackness.

The moment Killian came to himself, he knew where he was. Back in the Fade. The same skeletal trees, vague rounded hills, sourceless light above and yellow-brown moss underfoot. He stood at the top of a small rise that led down into a shallow depression. In the centre of the depression, a figure waited.

Guessing that avoidance was not an option, Killian went down the path. The figure seemed to be that of a man. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in heavy plate armour, with the visor down. The armour was jet black, trimmed with gold. The mans' hands were resting on the pommel of a massive broadsword, and his head was bowed as if in thought.

Killian approached openly, stopping as soon as the man raised his head.

"Greetings, Captain Killian Jones, also called Hook." The voice was deep, rendered hollow by the helm. "You are not the One Expected, but you have spoken with him, and shall again. Be welcome."

"How do you know my name?" Killian asked.

The man raised his visor. The face inside had Caucasian features, but the skin was ebony black, as were the steady, sad eyes that met Killians'.

"It is my fate to know many things." He said. "Too many. I am Sepiriz, called the Warrior in Jet and Gold. For now, I am the Sentry, and you are the Messenger."

"Sentry over what?" Killian was cautious, loosening his sword.

Sepiriz smiled, though the sadness never left his eyes. "The Sentry who stands before the Gatekeeper. But do not fear, I am not here to prevent your passing, at least this way."

He moved to one side and pointed with a gauntleted hand to one of the now-familiar Fade portals.

"There is your path, Killian Jones. Beyond it, you will meet the Gatekeeper. If you prove worthy, he will instruct you in the remainder of your task.

"But understand this, Killian Jones; should the Gatekeeper reject you, or should you return through that portal with any part of your task incomplete, then we measure swords, you and I."

"What about my friends?" Killian demanded. "I need to find them!"

"That is not your part." Sepiriz told him gently. "Your loyalty is commendable, but the Grey Warden Cormac already searches for them. If they can be found, he will find them.

"Now, go, and may the Runestaff guide your path."

Killian gave a mental shrug. There was clearly no way out of this except to do as he was asked. The others would have to rely on Cormac, and Killian had no doubts about the lads' capabilities. He went to the portal, gathered himself, and stepped through.

He found himself in some kind of rotunda. He knew at once that this was not the Fade -the marble walls and tiled floor were too solid. Above him, a glass dome showed the night sky, but the stars were in no configuration he, or any other seaman, had ever navigated by. Just below the dome, statues of angelic figures were carved, holding in their outstretched arms crystal lamps that shed a clear, mellow light.

Below these figures, a sculpted frieze ran around the walls, representations of many figures. Men, women, warriors, priests, scientists, even children. All separate and distinct, yet all somehow linked. Below this the wall was decorated with murals in glowing colours. Murals depicting different worlds, both beautiful and terrifying. Between these, flanked by unadorned pillars, were a series of doors. Some black and opaque, others white and glowing with an inner light.

The floor, by contrast, was made up of black tiles, with patterns etched on them in white, arranged in concentric circles around the centre. Some of the patterns Killian recognised as symbols of religions; the Cross, the Crescent, the Star of David, the seated Buddha. Others were unknown, and some totally alien. But every second ring was composed of only two symbols, laid alternately: a single arrow, pointing to the centre, and a circle of eight arrows, pointing outwards. The central tile was perhaps two feet in diameter, and contained a different symbol – a perfectly-balanced set of scales.

Then a man was standing on the centre tile. Grey-bearded, with a lined face, but tall and straight. He wore a blue cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, and carried a staff which, on closer inspection, proved to be a spear. He studied Killian with one bright blue eye, the other was covered with a patch. He spoke in a voice as deep and rich as that of Sepiriz, without the black warriors' eternal sadness.

"So, the doors appear – the first test is passed. I am here -the second test is passed.

"Hail and well-met, Killian Jones the Messenger. Are you ready to undergo the third and final test?"

"Do I have a choice?" Killian asked. "If you didn't know, there's a very big bloke in armour with a dirty great sword waiting back there, just in case I'm not!"

The old man gave a bellow of laughter. "Well done, my friend! A jest in the face of danger or uncertainty is the mark of a man who accepts the world for what it is, and values his own life at its' true worth.

"Let us begin. I have worn many forms in many worlds, and have been known by as many names. Tell me then, Killian Jones, by what name was I called when last I wore this form?"

Killian blinked. "Am I supposed to guess, or do I get a clue?" He asked.

The old man laughed again. "Of course! This is a test of reason and knowledge, not intuition.

"Listen well, Killian Jones. I am called All-Father and Bale-Worker. My house is Fensalir, my feasting-hall is Valhalla and my high seat is Hlidskialf. My spear is Gungnir and my ring is Draupnir. My horse is Sleipnir, my ravens are Hugin and Munin, and my wolves are Freki and Geri.

"Now, speak my name!"

As the old man spoke, memories of childhood tales rose in Killians' mind. Not tales he had been told himself, but ones he had heard mothers tell their children through his long years of wandering. Tales of a time long ago when the men of the North saw the glaciers, blizzards and icy winds of winter as giants greedy to slay them and the sea as a serpent that encircled the world. So the men of the North imagined a race of immortal guardians who stood guard against these creatures. And the greatest of these was...

"Odin." Killian said. "Your name is Odin."

Odin bowed. "You are correct." He said. "In this form, I am Odin."

Killian frowned. "Why this form, for me?" He asked. "There are other forms I might have had more difficulty naming."

"And others you could never have named at all." Odin replied. "A test must be fair, Killian. In Egypt, they called me Thoth, the Ibis-Headed. In Greece, they revered me as Thrice-Mighty Hermes. Yet both of those forms would have been too easy a test for you. Had I appeared as I did to the men of Lemuria, as Pnoth, God of Starry Wisdom, or as I seemed to the Elves of Middle-Earth who named me Mithrandir, or as Sarek of Vulcan, or Kahless the Klingon, there would have been no succeeding for you.

"But now there is much for you to do. The One Expected did not come – there are forces that interfere at every turn, but the Power we serve will ever find a new way. You are here as Messenger, to gather the tools the One will need to carry out his task, and to bring them to him."

"Who is this One Expected?" Killian asked.

Odin shook his head. "It is not for me to say, even if I knew. All I know is that you have met him once, and will do so again, and you will know him when you do.

"For now, your task is, in its way, a simple one." He pointed with his spear. "The black doors are sealed, you may not pass them. They lead to places you should not go, cannot go, or do not need to go. The white doors lead you to other places. Beyond them you will encounter people or beings. Each of them will have something – a tool, a weapon, knowledge – that the One Expected will require. It is your task to retrieve these items. Some will be given freely, others may require a test or a favour to gain.

"You must guard these items with your life, Killian Jones, and you must remember all that is told you. The success of our mutual endeavour depends upon it, as does your life. Sepiriz will take no joy in slaying you, but he will do as Fate commands, should you fail."

"No pressure, then." Killian noted. "Where do I start?"

"Wherever you wish." Odin said.

Killian shrugged, then chose a glowing door at random, opened it, and stepped through.


	8. Chapter 8

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Eight: Change of Plan**

 _There's a divinity that shapes our ends,  
Rough-hew them how we will... _

_Hamlet (William Shakespeare)_

"The problem isn't so much _finding_ Tanelorn, as knowing where to look." Henry was saying. "Basically, I've narrowed it down to four categories. Ancient but still inhabited cities, ancient abandoned cities, mythological cities, and cities in fantasy."

Sirius shook his head. "Muggle thinking." He remarked. "All this logic! Hermione Granger was like that, I recall. Used to drive you mad, the way she thought everything through instead of just _doing_ something! Those books said she married the Weasley lad? Poor Ron!

"Anyway, young Henry, we wizards don't put much stock in logic. We go more by feel."

"That's fine in a world where magic works." Henry allowed. "But in this world, outside Storybrooke, it doesn't, so we have to use logic. That's what this world runs on, Sirius, science and logic."

"What?" Sirius asked. "Even the women?"

"Let's not go there!" Henry told him firmly. "You're in enough trouble as it is!

"Now, the problem with the ancient inhabited cities is that most of them, like Damascus and Jericho, are in the Middle East, and that's dangerous territory right now. Also, Tanelorn is supposed to be a refuge for those seeking peace, so even other cities like Athens don't really qualify.

"The abandoned cities are different, but still unlikely. A lot of those are in the Middle East and most of the rest, like Calakmul and Chan Chan, are in South America. But the archaeologists and tourists are all over them, so no help there.

"The best leads we have are the mythological cities. There's El Dorado in South America, Lyonesse, Avalon and Hy-Brasil off the coast of Great Britain, and Shambalah and Shangri-La in the Himalayas. All good candidates."

"Hmm." Sirius considered. "What about the fantasy ones?" He asked.

Henry shrugged. "Thing about fantasy is, anywhere that starts out peaceful tends to end up under siege before long. Only two I could find were in Tolkien; Lothlorien, the Elven forest kingdom, and Valmar, the City of the Valar in Aman. But Lothlorien depended on Galadriels' Ring, which she took with her when she left. As to Aman, that can only be reached by Elven ship. Unless you have a Silmaril on you?"

Sirius patted his pockets. "No. Must've used my last one up." He said.

Henry chuckled, then said. "That leaves the mythological ones. There are any amount of maps that are supposed to lead to them, but if you want the genuine article, I'd look in Mr Golds' shop."

Regina, who had slipped into the room quietly, stepped forward. "Why don't Mr Black and I go and have a look, Henry dear? You should get something to eat -you've missed lunch again." She took Sirius' arm. "Come along, Sirius, I'm sure Belle will give us the run of the shop."

Killian stepped through the door into what appeared to be a well-equipped workshop. The power-tools that lined the walls, the strip lighting and the laptop computer that rested on a nearby workbench made him think that he was in some version of late 20th or early 21st Century Earth.

There was a hiss and a cloud of steam. Killian turned to see what appeared to be a miniature smithy on one side of the room. There was a small but powerful furnace, an anvil and a water trough. The steam was rising from this trough as a man, stripped to the waist, appeared to be plunging something into it.

As Killian watched, the man lifted something out of the water, turning as he did so. He held a pair of blacksmiths' tongs, with something in them that still steamed as the water evaporated from it. Then the saw Killian.

They stood at gaze for a moment, measuring each other. The smith was stocky, powerful-looking, with shoulders like a bulls' and thickly-muscled arms. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with dark hair, a blunt, impassive face and clear, unwavering eyes. There was darkness in him, but a darkness he had mastered and turned to his own purposes.

 _Bloody Hell!_ Killian thought. _I'm starting to think like a Warden!_

"Hello." The young man said. "I've been expecting you. I'm Will Parry. What's your name?"

"Killian Jones." Killian replied. "I'm the Messenger, if that means anything to you."

"It does." Will replied. "If you are who you say you are." He looked across the room. "Kirjava?"

Killian followed his glance. Seated on another workbench was large cat, its coat a subtle blend of colours. The cat focused a disconcertingly intelligent gaze on Killian, and they locked eyes for a long moment. Then the cat turned to Will and spoke in a soft contralto.

"He speaks the truth." Kirjava said. "But he is different. He sees more than others do."

To Wills' questioning glance, Killian said. "It's true. I'm a Grey Warden." In that moment, Killian realised he had finally accepted that fact, with all that it might imply for him.

"What's a Grey Warden?" Will asked.

Conscious of Kirjavas' stare, Killian replied. "A member of an order sworn to seek out and fight the taint of Darkness wherever it is found."

Wills' eyes blazed, the power in them suddenly terrifying. "I'd like to do that!" He said. "How do you become a Grey Warden?"

Killian shrugged. "If there are Wardens in this world, they will find you – sooner rather than later, I'd guess. If there aren't, well perhaps you could found your own order."

Will nodded, then took the item out of the tongs and held it out to Killian. "This is what you came for." He said. "It's called the Subtle Knife. It was broken – I broke it – some years ago, but I've done my best to reforge it. I'm no Iorek Byrnisson, but with what I've learned since, it should still work.

"Now listen! There are lots of ways to travel between worlds. The Knife is one of them, but it's dangerous. When you use it, you release Spectres that feed on souls, and if you leave the cuts open, Dust leaks through them. Tell the new Bearer only to use it when there's no other choice, and always to close up the cuts afterwards. I've written some instructions out. The Bearer must read them and has to stick to them, all right?

"Now you can't stay here too long. We're all being watched, but it takes time for them to catch up. You need to be gone before they do.

"Goodbye, Mr Jones, and good luck!"

Killian accepted the knife, wrapped in its sheet of instructions, with a word of thanks, then turned to go. As he did so, Kirjava spoke from behind him.

"Your daemon is an albatross, Killian. A lonely wanderer of sea and sky. You may try to settle, but it is against your nature."

With those words ringing in his ears, Killian stepped through the door and back into the rotunda. The door turned black behind him. Odin, still patient on the centre tile, nodded approval. Killian made for the next door.

It was a forest, strong, healthy and lush. Killians' Warden senses were bathed in the _rightness_ of everything here. Drawn by a silver glow some way off, he went forward. The glow surrounded a small hill, on the summit of which stood five figures, apparently in conversation. They also had traces of the silver glow, and one of them was three times taller than the others. It was this one that saw Killians' coming and pointed him out to the others.

By the time he had reached the top of the hill, one of them had stepped forward to meet him. A tall, rugged-looking man in a blue robe, a crooked, kindly mouth and dangerous gold-flecked eyes.

"Killian Jones, the Messenger." He said. "Be welcome in Andelain. I am Mhoram son of Variol, once High Lord and seer and oracle to the Council. Your coming was revealed to me. Welcome and true."

He led Killian forward to meet another blue-robed figure. A tall, graceful woman, perhaps forty, with clear grey eyes and a gentle smile. "Welcome and true." She greeted him. "I am Elena Lena-daughter, also once High Lord. The coming of a Grey Warden speaks not only to our peril, but to the strength of the forces that stand against it."

The Giant was next. Perhaps fifteen feet tall, he still seemed almost grotesquely muscular. Behind his spade-shaped beard, his face seemed to be one huge grin, and his voice bubbled as if with barely suppressed laughter. "Well met, Killian Jones! I am Saltheart Foamfollower, of the Seareach Giants. It is a pity our time is short, there are tales I would hear, and more I would gladly tell!"

"Peace, Rockbrother." This was the fourth man, a compact figure in a simple, loincloth-like, garment that left his tanned, wiry body largely exposed. His face was flat, his eyes unreadable. His voice expressed nothing but absolute certainty and judgement. "There is no taint here, Grey Warden, be sure of that. But think no harm, I will not permit it. I am Bannor, of the Bloodguard."

"Bloody Hell, Bannor!" This was the last figure, who had hung back. His tone was half irritated, half-humorous. "You don't change, do you? He's on our side!"

"Nonetheless, ur-Lord." Bannor stated. "The Bloodguard know the perils of unearned trust."

"I know, I know." The man stepped forward. He was dressed, to Killians' surprise, in jeans, a t-shirt and heavy hiking boots. His face was gaunt, as if all unnecessary flesh had been burned away by some inner flame. His mouth was strict, his eyes at once intense and haunted. "I'm Thomas Covenant." He said simply. "And if it wasn't for me, what you have to do here would be a lot simpler!"

"What do I have to do?" Killian asked.

"That depends." Covenant told him. "Are you a good man, Jones?"

Killian shrugged. "There's no easy answer to that. There are those who'd tell you that Captain Hook is a murderous, bloody-handed pirate, but at least he always kept to the Articles of the Brotherhood. Others would tell you he's a gentleman of fortune, who keeps his honour intact despite his trade.

"Killian Jones, though, is just a man like any other. Things were done to me, and I tried to serve them that did them as they served me, good or bad accordingly. I've done things I'm not proud of, I'll admit to that. Done some bloody awful things, if you want the truth, but I either had no choice or my own reasons when I did 'em.

"But recently, I've been given the chance to make amends, or at least a new start, so I'm taking it. That what you wanted to hear?"

Covenant nodded. "Good. I wouldn't trust a man who had no regrets, who didn't feel guilty about something. I wrote books about it, in fact. There's a balance to these things, and if you're going to do good, you have to know what bad is first. Too many people who have nothing but good in them end up doing terrible things, all for the best.

"People like us, Jones, we know there are consequences to our actions, and that we can't always know what they'll be. Come with me."

He led Killian down to a small dell, in the centre of which stood an ancient, gnarled tree. The tree was in pain, Killian could sense it. The pain radiated from a spot that at first looked like a stubby branch, about five feet up on one side. As he got nearer, however, Killian saw the hilt of some kind of weapon that had been thrust into the tree. A long time ago, by the look of it, because bark had grown along the blade. But the hilt was not rusted, but silvery bright.

"This," Covenant said sadly, "is all that's left of Caer-Caveral, the last Forestal. Once he was a man called Hile Troy, one of the ones I told you about, who intended nothing but good and didn't know what evil was until he faced the consequences of his actions. He sacrificed his human life to save what he could, then millennia later he sacrificed his other life to save the Land. All because I couldn't or wouldn't do what was expected of me. I wasn't ready, then.

"But what matters to you is that weapon. You need to pull it out, but you can't do it on your own."

"Long ago," Elena said, "I broke the Law of Death in arrogance and ignorance. I achieved only my own death and gave the Fangthane the power to summon and compel the Dead to his service. In giving his own life, Caer-Caveral broke the Law of Life, allowing the Dead to act of their own free will and resist the Despiser.

"The Law is now restored, but the consequences of our actions, in a measure, remain."

"The blade can only be removed by the living and the dead working together." Mhoram went on. "Moreover, the living one must be from outside this world. Someone to whom the Law does not apply. Someone like you, Killian Jones."

Killian gave a short laugh. "I've never been big on laws, Lord Mhoram." He said. "Well, Bannor, trust me enough to give a hand?"

"I serve the Lords, and they trust you." Bannor said. "It is enough. For now."

They approached the tree and laid hold of the hilt. Killian noted that while Bannors' hands were intangible to his own, they gripped the hilt solidly enough. They began to pull, working the blade up and down to loosen it. The tree groaned, but seemed to be trying to help, pulling away from the blade as much as it could. The bark fell away, revealing several inches of bright blade. They managed to get a few more inches clear, then it stuck fast.

"We do not suffice." Bannor stated. "Your living strength is equal to the task, as mine would be if I yet lived. Dead, I lack the power."

"Be easy, Rockbrother." This was Foamfollower. "Dead I may be, but I am still a Giant!" His huge, spectral hand engulfed both of theirs, but Killian could feel the extra grip, firm and sure, on the hilt.

Steadily, without hurry or hesitation, the three exerted their strength and the blade finally slid free, as untarnished as the day it was thrust there. The tree shuddered from root to tip, free from pain at last. Twisted branches seemed to straighten, as did the trunk. Gnarled bark was suddenly smoother. It was if the tree had been clenching itself against the pain, and having been freed of it, could now stand tall again.

Bannor and Foamfollower stepped back. Killian inspected the weapon. It was a short sword, or long knife, the simple cruciform hilt and straight blade forged around a large, clear gem of no colour. The edges of the blade were dull.

"This wants sharpening, I'd say. Though after so long in that tree, it's no surprise." He remarked.

Mhoram shook his head. "The _krill_ of Loric requires no whetstone, Killian Jones. It draws its strength from the one who wields it.

"It was forged long ago, in the time of the Old Lords, by Loric son of Damelon son of Berek, at a time when the Land stood in peril. With it, he slew the Demondim guise of _moksha_ Raver, and earned the surname Vilesilencer. Later still, I myself wielded it to put an end to Satansfist, the stolen Giant body of _samadhi_ Raver. The One for whom it is intended will be able to use it, but it is no weapon for a Grey Warden.

"Now you must leave, Killian Jones. Those who pursue you will not find it easy to come here, but come they will. They have no power to hurt us, but we cannot protect you against them."

The next place had a certain familiarity. Sand underfoot, palm trees and a bright tropic sun overhead, a tang of the sea in the air, and the sound of sword meeting sword.

Killian looked own the beach to see the all-too-familiar sight of a group of pirates engaged in a free-for-all. Then he realised that, in fact, there were a crowd of about a dozen pirates, all attacking a single man. A man Killian recognised at once. With a wry grin and a shake of his head, Killian drew Oathkeeper and set to work.

The lone fighter had been holding his own with some success, so Killian's arrival merely tipped the scales. It was a merry enough scrap while it lasted, but when just one man of the hostile group was left standing, he suddenly stepped back, lowered his blade and gave his opponents a courtly bow. Whereupon, the 'dead' men got up, sheathed their blades, and followed their leader away along the beach.

Killian turned to his ally, meeting the piercing gaze of the jet-black eyes easily.

"Jack Sparrow, as I live and breathe!" He said. "Who else could get himself into quite so much trouble on a deserted island?"

" _Captain_ Jack Sparrow!" Sparrow insisted, in the slightly slurred voice that led many to think him a

drunk, and others to assume slow-wittedness. Neither was true, Killian knew this man to be as shrewd and dangerous as any buccaneer on the seas.

"Of course." He replied. "Still a Captain, still no ship, eh, Jack?"

"A bit under-shipped yourself, matey." Sparrow noted. "Captain Hook without the _Jolly Roger_? New rig, too. You always did like leather, but that outfit's a bit much!"

"Fits what I'm doing at the moment." Killian told him. "As to the _Roger,_ she's safe in harbour. But what are you up to, Jack? You wouldn't be here without a reason."

"Neither would you, Hook." Sparrow pointed out. "I think I know what yours is. They said I'd get help, I just didn't expect _you_.

"Fact is, I've got a ship, here."

He produced a large bottle from one capacious pocket and showed it to Killian. Inside was a stormy sea, on which tossed a ship Hook recognised at once.

"The _Black Pearl_ " He said. "Blackbeard captured her?"

"Aye." Sparrow nodded. "I wasn't aboard at the time. But how do you get a ship out of a bottle? With a corkscrew -that corkscrew!"

He pointed out to sea. Some distance off, there was a huge, twisting water-spout. It didn't move or sway, but simply continued twisting in the same place.

"Neptunes' Corkscrew." Killian grinned. "Well, that makes sense! But who were those lubbers you'd upset so much?"

"Them's the crew of the _Fancy_." Sparrow told him. "They've been waiting for a ship and a captain since Avery disappeared. I've got a ship, and I'm a captain, but they had to make sure I was good enough, see?

"Well, they know now. So all we've got to do is get to the spout and toss this bottle in. But the sea round it's a bit rough. There's a boat here, but it'll take the two of us to row out there.

"Once the _Pearl_ 's out, I've got something for you."

"Then let's get going!" Killian said.

It _was_ a rough trip. The waves, winds and currents didn't seem to want to let them near the spout. But these two seasoned seamen were equal to the task. Eventually, they broke through into an area of flat calm that surrounded Neptunes' Corkscrew. Without further ceremony, Sparrow stood up in the bows of the boat and hurled the bottle into the centre of the spout.

For a moment, nothing happened, then the spout went down. It didn't collapse or fall, but simply went straight down, as if drilling itself into the sea, like the corkscrew it was named for. Then, quite suddenly, the _Black Pearl_ was there, riding a gentle swell, whole and seaworthy. There was a distant sound of cheering, and as Killian looked toward it, he saw a dozen boats putting out from the island, filled with men.

"Well," Sparrow said, "there's my ship, and there's my crew!"

They rowed up to the side of the ship, near a rope that Sparrow could climb to the deck. Sparrow took something from his pocket and tossed it to Killian, who examined it.

"This is that mad compass of yours!" He said.

Sparrow nodded. "Aye. Bloody thing's a fraud. All those years, I thought it pointed to where you wanted to go. Seems it actually points to where you _need_ to go. I never really _needed_ to go anywhere, so it was forever leading me astray. Hope your mate can make better use of it.

"See you, matey. Maybe we can sail together sometime, the _Black Pearl_ and the _Jolly Roger_!"

With that, he was gone. Killian put about and rowed for the shore.

He was beside the sea again, but this time in a busy seaport, with the usual assault of smells and sound. Among the polyglot babble, the dominant tongue seemed to be Arabic, while the merciless sun confirmed he must be somewhere in North Africa. The ships at the wharves seemed to be a mixture of dhows, caravels, galleys, cogs and galleons.

Killian looked around, and immediately spotted one man who stood out from the crowd. The man spotted him at the same time and waved him over. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with not an ounce of spare flesh – a wolf of a man. His clothing was the black, close garb and broad-brimmed slouch hat of the Puritan, but a brace of pistols hung at his waist and a long rapier by his side. No preacher then.

As Killian came closer, he noted the strong, thin features. Despite the fact that where the shirt was open at the neck, the skin beneath was deeply tanned, the mans' face was pale, as if the sun could not touch it. His eyes were so light a grey as to be almost colourless, eyes that knew nothing of compromise. His voice was deep and harsh.

"Thou art the Messenger?" He asked. "I am Solomon Kane. We have little time, my ship sails with the tide, so listen well.

"For more than ten years, I have wandered this Dark Continent. Much have I seen, and more I would see, but now some force, I know not what, calls me back to England.

"When first I came here, I met a man named N'Longa, a practitioner of what I then thought the darkest of magics. But he proved himself a true man and a friend. Before I departed on my travels, he gifted me this."

He held up a staff, about three feet long, curiously carved along its length. One end was sharpened to a killing point, the other carved in the form of a cats' head.

"This staff," Kane went on, "is truly ancient. I have heard it has been the sceptre of kings, the rod of priests, and the staff of sorcerors. I have used it to summon my friend in dreams, and it has warded me against great evil. The living dead crumble to dust at its touch, and ravening spirits fleet from it. It is a thing of power in itself, and wielded by one who has power of their own, it can become a tool of great good or blackest evil. But I shall have no need of it in my native land.

"When the urge came upon me to return home, I went first to the village where N'Longa dwelt, thinking to return the staff to him. But he was older than the oldest when first I met him, and when I returned he was close to death. He told me then of the Messenger, who would take the staff and bring it to the One who must wield it next. He told me of what kind you would be and where and when we would meet.

"Then he passed, as quietly and without fear as any Christian man. The teachings of my faith tell me that such as N'Longa are bound for eternal flame. But I have read the work of the Italian poet Dante. In his depiction of Hell, he speaks of a place not unpleasant, where dwell those who are called Virtuous Pagans. As a Papist, Dante was mistaken, but it is my hope, for my friends' sake, that as a poet, he saw the Truth.

"Take the staff, Messenger, and may the Almighty watch over you."

As soon as he came through the final door, Killian realised that he was back in Thedas. The short, slight figure before him wore bright silvery armour, but had the characteristic sharp features, pointed ears and facial tattoos of a Dalish Elf.

Not that Killian had time to take much in, as the Elf promptly drew a long, curved sword and attacked him!

Of course, when the blow fell, Killian wasn't there, and by the time the Elf had reoriented himself, he had his own blade out. What followed was a longer, more complex duel than Killian had ever fought before. The Elf seemed to be in a dozen places at once, his sword moving so fast as to be near-invisible. Had Killian not spent the time he had in Thedas. getting back into practice, things would have gone hard with him.

As it was, he was just getting into his stride when the Elf changed the rules, suddenly hurling a gout of flame at him. Killian avoided that at the cost of some slightly-scorched armour, and now realised he had to take random spell-casting into account as well. Things got very interesting after that.

But the Elf overdid the thing in the end. They were fighting in an area of close-packed earth, which the sorceror suddenly covered with a layer of grease. At the same time he caused the ground to pitch and tremble violently. This might have given another warrior severe problems, but Hook the pirate simply laughed. A man who had spent half his adult life fighting on the heaving, blood-slick decks of ships at sea did not lose his footing so easily. The Elf had, unknowingly, put himself at a disadvantage. A mistimed cut finished the job. Killian caught the long blade in his hook, twisted and wrenched, and the sword spun away. Killian brought Oathkeeper around, stopping the edge a half-inch short of the Elfs' neck.

"Do I have to kill you?" He asked. "Or can we work this out?"

The Elf sent a pointed glance downward. Killian followed it to see a long knife in his opponents' left had, poised a half-inch away from his groin. Stalemate. By tacit consent, the two put up their weapons and stepped back. Remembering how Elana had greeted him, Killian said:

" _Adaran atishan_ , friend. Might I ask your name?"

The Elf blinked. "You speak our tongue? Few _shem'len_ are concerned to learn it."

"Only that greeting." Killian admitted. "I have met Dalish Elves before."

"I do not know this word 'Dalish'." The Elf stated. "But I am named Eringon, Arcane Warrior and once Champion to the Kings of Arlathan. You, I know, are the Messenger. Forgive my testing of you, but what I have to give you is precious, potent and perilous. I would not have it in the hands of one unable to safeguard it."

"I understand, and approve." Killian allowed. Studying the man more closely, he became aware of an odd dichotomy in his perception. The Elf looked to be in his prime, with dark hair and an unlined face. But Killians' Warden senses showed him an impression of great age.

"Now attend me, Messenger." Eringon said. "The Arcane Warriors are the elite of Elven fighters. We possess the ability to focus our magical prowess through weapons and armour. Thus the more powerful our magic, the greater our might in arms as well as the more potent our spell-casting.

"Among these champions, I am accounted one of the greatest, but I have lived too long a time. Soon I shall enter _uthenera_ , the Waking Slumber, as is our custom, to make way for the young. But before I could do this, a dream came to me.

"The dream showed me a time when Arlathan is no more. A time when the Elvenhan are a scattered people. When we are mortal as the _shem'len_ are. A time when the art and lore of the Arcane Warrior is lost to us. In that dream I spoke with a _shem_ warrior, a knight in black and gold. He told me that it was my fate to preserve my skills for a time when they will be needed again. He also told me of you.

"So I came to this place of solitude, where for so many years I had practiced and perfected my skills. Here I produced two Phylacteries, filled with my own blood and imbued with a portion of my spirit. Those who find them can, if they be worthy, learn from them the mystery of the Arcane Warrior.

"One I have hidden away, in a place foretold, to be found in a time of ultimate peril by one who may make use of it. The other I give to you, to pass on to the One Expected. Guard it well, and remember all you have learned in your travels, Messenger. Your part does not end when the Message is delivered."

When Killian returned to the Rotunda -as he had decided to call it – he went straight up to Odin.

"Well," he said, "I've done as you asked. Now do you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Surely you must have divined some for yourself, Killian?" Odin countered.

"Well, yes." Killian allowed. "All the stuff I've been given is only really useful to a wizard. A wizard who is going to travel between various Realms, and will have to fight at times. Not a mage from Thedas, I don't think. I expect it's to do with the bloke I met in the Fade – Black was his name."

Odin nodded. "You are correct. These items are intended for Sirius Black, who has a role to play in the coming struggle, as indeed do you and many others in many worlds.

"There are three great principles, Killian, who contend for the mastery of the Multiverse. These are Law, Chaos and the Balance. All three are necessary for Life to exist, but Law and Chaos are ever at war. It is from that conflict, moderated by the Balance, that all that exists, springs.

"Before the Conjunction of the Million Spheres, Chaos was the dominant and aggressive force, seeking for total randomness, rule by whim, constant change and flux. But when Elric blew the Horn of fate for the final time, that Multiverse was ended, and a new one founded, in which the principle of Law was dominant.

"We thought that Law would seek to preserve the Balance, but it was not so, and now in this Multiverse, Law seeks domination. The nature of Absolute Law is to extinguish first freedom, then thought, then finally Life itself. Law seeks a Multiverse of barren planets orbiting suns in perfect ellipses without the riotous infestations of ever-changing, ever-evolving, Life.

"So we who serve the Balance and once opposed Chaos, now find ourselves opposing Law. To this end, we seek agents both knowing and unknowing. Sirius Black is one of those who will know his purpose. As indeed, are you, Killian."

"But Black was heading for my world!" Killian protested. "Are you going to send me back there, now? I mean I want to get home, but the Grey Wardens..."

"Need you?" Odin asked. "Indeed, as you need them, for a time. The way back to your own world can only be found in Thedas, Killian, and that is where you will return, for now.

"But your own world requires Grey Wardens, Killian. At the time of the First Blight, the old God, Dumat, was corrupted into the first Archdemon, and took the form of a High Dragon. In that form he mated with a she-Dragon from another Realm. What you call the Enchanted Realm. If offspring came of that union, then somewhere in the worlds you travel, the seed of an Archdemon lives. Should the taint overcome it, then a Blight may come there, and Wardens will be needed."

Odin waved his hand over the items Killian had collected, and they were replaced by a small, carved box with the symbol of the Balance on the lid.

"The box will open at the touch of the one for whom the items are intended." He said. "Send him into the Fade, where Sepiriz will bring him here, so he can learn what is needed."

"Now, you must return to the Tower. Farewell, Killian Jones."


	9. Chapter 9

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Nine: Testament of Uldred**

" _The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,  
Gang aft agley, "_

 _"Ode to a Mouse" (Robert Burns)_

"So tell me, Sirius," Regina asked as they sifted through the apparently random clutter of Golds' store-room, "in all this rushing around, have you even given a moment's consideration to staying here?"

"After twenty years of wandering, wouldn't you want to go home?" Sirius responded, not really paying attention.

"No, I never think of going home at all." Regina told him. "There's nothing there but bad memories."

He stopped and looked at her then. "Of course, I'm sorry." He said. "But you left of your own accord, Regina. I was pushed out of my world."

"Into this...Fade? Is that the word?" Regina shrugged. "But now you're here. Suppose you can't find a way out? Suppose this 'Tanelorn' can't be found? Suppose Hook never returns? His ship can travel between Realms, but only if he's there to sail it.

"You need to stop and think, Sirius. You may be here forever. You should at least consider how you might make the best of it."

Sirius gave her a disconcertingly shrewd stare. "I take it you have few ideas on that option?" He asked softly.

Regina couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Gold will be back." She said. "Belle banished him with the dagger. But he's cunning and resourceful. He'll find a way, and when he does, he'll be out for blood.

"If we're lucky, Swan and I might be able to hold him, for a time, but we're no real match for him. He knows our weaknesses, and how to exploit them."

"But he doesn't know mine, right?" Sirius responded.

"Even if he did, he hasn't the power to match you." Regina looked at him now. "You're a more powerful wizard than any I've seen or encountered, except Merlin. You don't know what goes on here, Sirius. Mary-Margaret and David pull one way, Swan pulls another and I pull a third. We need someone with the power and authority to make us all pull together, to put a stop to our old rivalries and mistrust. We need you, Sirius Black!"

She had come close to him now, looking up into this eyes and placing a hand on his chest. He stiffened, and she shook her head.

"No, Sirius. Even if I was still taking hearts, I couldn't touch yours. It's too powerful, I'd burn to ashes. That's another reason why we need you."

"Need?" He asked her. "Or want?"

She gave him a crooked, rueful grin. "Busted, as Henry might say." She allowed. "I admit you have a certain rugged appeal. In fact, I'd like to rip your clothes off right here and now! But it was only after I stopped being a Queen that I realised some things are more important than personal gratification. I meant what I said about us needing you."

"Harry..." He began, but she interrupted him.

"If those books of Henrys' are a fact in your world, then your godson is fine and happy. He doesn't need you, Sirius."

"No, he doesn't, Regina." Sirius admitted. "But _I_ need _him_. I never married, you know, and my own family disowned me. Harry, his wife and children, are all the family I have. Family is important to wizards in our world, it's important to me. I need at least to speak with Harry, to say sorry, to tell him how proud I am of him. I need to feel part of a family again. I'm sorry, but if I can go, I must."

Regina shook her head. "About half of my problems stem from my unfortunate taste in men!" She grumbled. "The ones I can have are no good for me and the ones that would be good for me I can't get!

"But family I understand, finally. If you must go, you must. Just...don't forget we're here...I'm here."

"I've not gone yet." Sirius pointed out. "There's no need to write my time here off completely." He drew her closer to him. "Now, what was that about ripping my clothes off?"

Killian woke to find Wynne leaning anxiously over him. "Thank the Maker!" She said. "We were afraid we'd lost you!"

"How long was I out?" Killian asked.

"Not much longer than the rest of us." Cormac said, coming over. "But you gave me a fright, my friend. I scoured the Sloth Demons' domain, every island of it, and I couldn't find you. I managed to locate everyone else. I wondered if the demon had kept you for itself for some reason.

"But then when we finally confronted the beast, it kept asking us where you were! It had you, it said, then you were gone!"

"I got the feeling it was more than a little miffed about that!" Alistair put in. "We wondered if someone had snatched you back to wherever you came from...Oh, don't give me that look, Killian! I may not be the keenest blade in the rack, but even I worked out that this 'Empire of America' is a lot further away than across a sea or two!"

Killian sighed. "I thought I'd been careful!" He said ruefully. "There's too much to explain now, even if I understood all of it. For now, I _was_ taken somewhere else, and I was given a job to do. I'll have to go back home sooner than I thought, but not just yet. Happy with that?"

"For the moment, yes." Cormac spoke for everyone, as usual. "But now we have a job to do!"

He went over to the body of a youngish-looking mage and gently searched it, retrieving a scroll.

"The Litany of Adralla," he explained to Killian. "I met Niall in the Fade and he told me to take it and use it." He laid the body out gently and placed the hands on the breast. "Rest easy, friend." He said.

Leliana came over and knelt by the body. "Niall," she said softly, "now you walk with He who is your Maker. Long may you know the peace of His love."

"So let it be." Chorused the others.

"Right!" Cormac said. "Niall told me that a mage by the name of Uldred is behind all this. By the sound of it, he's been training Blood Mages and studying demonology in secret for years. He wanted to ally the Circle with Loghain, but the others found out about the teyrns' treachery and that's when the trouble started. Uldred is now an Abomination."

"Damn!" Killian swore. "I found out how to get here by using a book called the _Testament of Uldred_! That cannot be a coincidence!"

"No, it cannot." Wynne agreed. "But why would he wish to bring you here, Killian?"

Killian shook his head. "I don't think it was me he was after, Wynne. I found the book among the effects of one of my worlds' most powerful and darkest mages. A man whom I now know to be possessed by an extremely powerful demon.

"I think it was the Dark One that Uldred wanted to bring here!"

"But instead he brought you." Leliana said. "I see the hand of the Maker in this!"

"Is there anything you don't see the hand of the Maker in?" Alistair wanted to know.

"Your cooking." Leliana told him. "The Maker does not desire burnt offerings, and neither do I."

"We Fereldans like our meat cooked!" Alistair replied. "I understand they prefer it half-raw in Orlais, but we're civilised here."

At that point, they were interrupted, appositely enough, by a gout of flame, closely followed by the creature who had produced it. A reptilian beast, larger than a bear, that Killian immediately recognised. The dragon made no attempt to take flight, despite the fact that the corridor was high and spacious enough for it to do so. It simply charged, attacking with fang, claw and the occasional blast of fiery breath.

Wynne immediately countered with some kind of freezing spell that slowed the dragon down enough for the three fighters to close with it. The creature clearly had high intelligence, since it recognised Cormac and his great blade as the major threat, and tried to concentrate on him. But in doing so, it left itself open to flanking attacks from Killian and Alistair. Not that this made the fight much easier, just a bit less one-sided. Dragons do not go down easily in any world, but this one eventually did.

No sooner had it done so, however, than the party were attacked by a dozen smaller versions of the same species. The size of dogs, they made odd mewling sounds as they attacked, but they were quick and vicious, not hard to kill, but difficult to slow down long enough to get a solid blow in.

"Bloody Hell!" Killian swore as the last one went down. "I didn't expect dragons! Not indoors, anyway."

"Well, technically, these aren't dragons." Alistair said. He indicated the small beast at his feet. "These are dragonlings, hatchlings. That," he pointed to the larger creature, "is a drake, an adolescent. Almost fully-grown, but the wings haven't developed yet. Once the wings are full-sized and the beast can fly, _then_ it's a dragon. They keep growing all their lives and once they reach a certain size, we call them High Dragons. _Those_ you want to avoid, seriously. Fortunately, once they're past the dragonling stage, they attack each other on sight, unless it's mating season, so not many live long enough to become High Dragons. They say a dragon can only become High by eating a certain number of other dragons, but that's never been proved. We don't exactly cultivate them."

They pressed on. They seemed to meet fewer enemies now, but the ones they encountered were tougher.

"I reckon that drake cleared out a lot of the rest." Cormac said. "They're not stupid beasts, but they don't do friend or foe, just food and not-food. But they are smart enough not to tackle anything tougher than themselves – except people, for some reason."

The last room they came to housed something very different. There was some kind of magical cage, similar to the one Morrigan had confined Connor in. Inside that was a young man in Templar armour, praying intensely, almost desperately. When Cormac spoke to him, he didn't even look up.

"No!" He muttered. "Not again! More visions, more lies! Cursed Blood Mages! I will not break!"

"Cullen?" Wynne asked. "Is that you, my boy?"

He ignored her.

"He's been tortured." Leliana said. "And probably denied food and water. Here, I have..."

"Stay away!" Cullen yelled. "Don't touch me!"

Alistair pulled Cormac and Killian aside as the women tried to reach Cullen.

"It's not just food and water he's gone short of." He told them in a low voice. "Templars are trained in counter-magical skills. To help with that, those who've taken their final vows are given small, regular doses of lyrium. At that dosage, it boosts magical power, it isn't lethal, but it is addictive."

"So if Cullen hasn't had his lyrium for a day or so, he'll be in withdrawal." Killian said. "That won't help his state of mind!"

"Nasty way to control your soldiers." Cormac remarked. "I'm seeing a side to the Chantry I'm not liking at all!"

They went back to the cage. Cullen was on his feet now, looking puzzled.

"That's always worked before," he was saying, " I close my eyes, and when I open them, the visions are gone. Can you actually be real? Enchanter Wynne, I'd thought you dead or turned into an Abomination long ago!"

"We're real." Cormac assured him. "I am Cormac of Highever, a Grey Warden asked by Knight-Commander Greagoir to sweep the Tower, deal with demons and Abominations, and seek out surviving mages."

"A Grey Warden, good!" Cullen said. "A Grey Warden will serve as well as a Templar to slay the mages. They must be killed, all of them!"

"We're here to save them, if we can." Cormac told him.

Cullen shook his head violently. "No! Too late!" He said. "They're upstairs, in the Harrowing Chamber. Oh, Maker! The sounds from up there!

"They're surrounded by Blood Mages whose wicked fingers sneak into your mind and corrupt you. Then Uldred turns them into Abominations. For everyones' sake, you must kill everything you find up there!"

"I'll not kill innocents." Cormac said flatly. "Not unless I have proof that they are either Blood Mages or Abominations."

"And how will you know?" Cullen sneered. "Wait until they kill you?"

"I am a Grey Warden." Cormac told him. "I will know."

"Ah, well, what can I do?" Cullen said bitterly. "I only hope your compassion does not doom us all. Maker turn His gaze on you."

With that, he returned to his prayers. Cormac shrugged, then took the Litany of Adralla from his pouch and handed it to Wynne.

"I expect," he told her, "that things are going to get violent upstairs. I'm trusting you, Wynne, to know when to use this, I probably won't have the time and I certainly don't have the knowledge."

"I understand." Wynne replied.

They went up the stairs.

The Harrowing Chamber took up the entire top floor of the Tower. Killian guessed that most of the time it would be a large, echoing space. Now, though, it seemed crowded.

Scattered around the periphery were groups of mages, bound back to back, their staves placed, mockingly, just out of reach. Some looked injured, but the majority seemed to be exhausted and terrified, but no worse.

In the centre of the room was a group consisting of two hulking Abominations, and two mages. One of the mages was writhing on the floor as the Abominations bombarded him with raw power. Then, at a gesture from the second mage, they levitated their victim clear of the floor. The other mage, a man of middle height and slim build with a hairless head, stepped up to the suspended prisoner and took his chin in one hand.

"Do you accept the gift that I offer?" He asked, in a soft, insinuating voice that nevertheless carried to every part of the room. The bound mage nodded wordlessly. The bald man stepped back, the Abominations dropped their prisoner, then all three began to hurl magic at him again. Under the flow of power, he _changed_ , body swelling, robes shredding, until he finally rose to his feet, a full-fledged Abomination.

Then, seeming to sense the intrusion, the bald man turned to face the party, revealing an arrogant face with deep-set eyes, a hooked nose and sensual mouth. A face that, to Killians' Warden senses, radiated the blackest taint.

"Greetings." The bald man said. "Have you come to join our revels?"

"Uldred, I presume?" Cormac asked.

"Your powers of deduction do you credit." Was the reply. "That you reached this place alive means that you must have slain my lackeys. Unfortunate, but better they should die in the service of their superiors than live with the terrible responsibility of independence."

"I hope you're as philosophical about your own impending death." Cormac said grimly.

"Wait, wait!" Uldred held up a hand. "I am trying to have a civilised conversation here." His eyes scanned the group, then stopped on Killian and widened. "An outworlder? And a ….Oh, this is too delightful!"

He flung his head back and burst into peals of malicious glee more terrifying than any bellow of rage. Then he recovered himself and shook his head.

"Such wonderful irony!" He declared. "Poor Uldred! So determined, so proud. Only the Dark One would satisfy his ambitions. So he went to Soldiers' Peak, braved that demon-haunted fortress until he found Avernus. He forced the old mage to part with his secret, the glyph that opens the gate between realms. He sent his little book, set his little trap. But the Dark One did not come, and when the crisis came, Uldred was forced to call on us! As if we were second best!

"And now, when he is ours, his trap is sprung, not by the Dark One, but by a Grey Warden! And here you are, Warden, trapped. For even if you leave this Tower alive, you won't find your way to the Peak, and only Avernus knows how to send you home again!"

"Thanks for the clue." Killian gritted. "What one man can reach, so can another. I've navigated some rough passages in my time, and if this Peak can be found, I'll find it. Not that you'll live to see it, matey!"

"Very well." The being that was once Uldred grinned. "Fight if you must. It will only make my victory all the sweeter!"

With that, he sent the other Abominations at them with a gesture. As the fight began, Uldred transformed himself, becoming a scaled, clawed, fanged Abomination larger than an Ogre. By the time the three lesser Abominations were dead, his change was complete and the battle began in earnest.

It became clear that the Abomination had the power to cancel others' magic, and to use spells of its own. But Alistair also had the ability to cancel magic, due to his Templar training. Between that, and Uldreds' tendency to physically attack anyone close to him, the Warden party managed to avoid a magical duel they were not equipped to win. Powerful as it was, the Abomination could still only strike at one foe at a time, leaving the others free to attack it. Leliana circled the room, loosing arrows at every opportunity – they did little harm, but served to distract and infuriate the beast, leaving openings for the swordsmen.

Not that they were unscathed, in fact all three of the men took a variety of wounds in the fight. But between the potions they all carried, and gulped down as opportunity offered, and Wynne's mastery of healing magic, they stayed in a fit state to continue.

Then Uldred changed tactics, suddenly becoming still, in a pose of concentration. The swordsmen took the opportunity to attack, but the Abomination did not respond. Then, after a moment, they heard Wynne speak a few short lines in a clear voice. Uldred staggered as if struck a heavy blow, then resumed fighting again.

This happened several times, until they realised what was happening. Uldred was attempting to turn some of the captive mages, but could not fight and do that at the same time. Wynne, as a mage, could follow the progress of the spell, and at the last moment, was using the Litany to break it. Uldred began to make determined efforts to attack Wynne, but the three swordsmen and Leliana proved to be a barrier he could not overcome, as he was by now severely weakened.

The end came quite quickly. Uldred was momentarily frozen by Wynnes' cold spell. Leliana, seeing an opening, dropped her bow and dashed forward with her knives, inflicting several quick, deep wounds in the Abominations' back. Alistair swiped the sharpened edge of his shield across the scaled belly, opening a deep gash into which Killian thrust Oathkeeper, twisting the blade and probing for whatever vital organs the thing might have. Uldred howled and doubled over. Killian tore his blade free and stepped back. Cormac planted his feet and swung Yusaris in a silver arc, severing the stretched neck. Uldreds' head rolled free, glaring and gnashing its' teeth for a moment. Then it was over.

There was no real celebration. They were tired, bloodied and hurting. The three men exchanged weary grins.

"Hell of a way to make a living!" Killian remarked.

Leliana hugged him then, firmly, before doing the same to Alistair and then throwing herself into Cormacs' willing embrace. Killian caught Wynnes' eye and smiled. "Kids." He mouthed, and she rolled her eyes as she nodded understanding.

Then they set about freeing the imprisoned mages. By Wynnes' count, fully half of the senior mages and enchanters were still alive and relatively unharmed. This was confirmed by First Enchanter Irving, a middle-sized, elderly man with an impressive grey beard and the dry manner of an academic.

"Our brothers and sisters were far more resistant than Uldred supposed." He noted. "Most resisted for longer than he anticipated, and many died rather than turn. A fortunate thing, as it allowed you time to reach us before all of us were gone.

"But now we must inform Greagoir that the threat has been removed and the Tower is again in our hands. May I lean on you as we go, Ser Cormac? I have had better days, and there are many stairs. Ah, curse whoever decided the Circle should be housed in a tower!"

There was, needless to say, a good deal of explaining to be done. However, Greagoir was more than ready to accept Irvings' assurance that the Tower was now safe, albeit over Cullens' strident protests. In the end, the Knight-Commander had the boy led off by two older Templars.

"He is not...himself." Greagoir noted. "He needs food, rest and, er, medicine. Then we will see. We may have to re-post him to some quiet country Chantry where he will face nothing worse than the occasional bandit."

"Given that there's a Blight bearing down on us," Cormac pointed out, "a 'quiet country Chantry' may be hard to come by!"

"I had not forgotten, Grey Warden." Greagoir answered gravely. "But for now, I have no men to spare. Even when the reinforcements from Denerim arrive, I will need them to replace the ones I have lost. The mages, however, are free to assist you in any way they see fit, you should speak with Irving about this.

"For now, the least I can do is offer you the services of our quartermaster, for supplies and repairs. I must organise another, more thorough, sweep of the Tower. I do not doubt you have dealt with the demons and Abominations, but there may yet be Templars and mages surviving and in need of aid.

"Maker watch over you, Grey Wardens. And Irving – it is good to have you back."

"I'm sure we'll be at each others' throats again in no time, Greagoir." Irving responded with a smile, which Greagoir returned. Killian admired these two – friendly opponents playing somebody elses' game by their own rules. Then the First Enchanter turned to the Wardens.

"It is tempting to say that the Maker sent you here at our hour of need." He said. "But I gather that what brought you here was more mundane, if no less urgent. Well, the Tower is in disarray, and the Circle has lost many of our best. Nevertheless, we will honour our treaty obligations to the Grey Wardens. The Circle of Magi will stand with you in the coming fight, you have my word, as First Enchanter."

"Thank you." Cormac said. "But there is another matter that must be dealt with. Can the Circle go to Redcliffe to save a possessed child?"

Irving grasped Cormacs' explanation with all the rapidity of a powerful mind, and agreed to meet them at Redcliffe himself with as many mages as possible and all the lyrium he could find.

That agreed, the party took advantage of Greagoirs' offer. Their weapons and armour had taken something of a beating in the Tower. While they waited, two of the senior mages who specialised in healing took better care of their hurts than Wynne, in the heat of battle, had been able to do. They also found time for a welcome meal.

When they returned to the quartermasters' smithy, they found not only him, but one of the Tranquil there, who handed them back their weapons.

"As a sign of the Circles' gratitude," he said, "I was asked to enchant these weapons for you, if I could. I have been able to add protective runes to some of them, as well as others that will render them more effective against Darkspawn. I hope this meets with your approval."

Finally, as they prepared to leave, Wynne joined them, dressed for travel and carrying a pack.

"I hope you don't mind." She explained. "But Irving gave me leave to join your party. I was at Ostagar as well, and I feel that I left my business with the Darkspawn unfinished. "

This addition was welcomed by all, especially Killian, who had been concerned that the groups' only magical expertise lay in the hands of the powerful but unstable Morrigan. So it was as a fully-supplied and reinforced group that they began to journey back to Redcliffe.

"We need to tread carefully here." Cormac said. "I didn't take the route we came by, because if word got out there'd been Wardens at the Tower and at Redcliffe, the usual route would be watched. But these lands belong to Bann Loren."

"Oh." Alistair said. "Now he doesn't have a good reputation. Changes loyalties like a weathercock in a whirlwind. Probably siding with Loghain now."

"Worse than that, he knows me." Cormac said. "My mother and his wife, Lady Landra, were childhood friends, so we had to entertain them. But none of us could stand the man.

"Lady Landra and her son were visiting Highever when the castle was taken. Howes' men killed them both."

"I would think that would turn Bann Loren against Loghain." Wynne remarked.

Cormac gave an unpleasant laugh. "I rather think not. At last count he had three mistresses and twice that number of bastard sons, most of whom take after their father far more than poor Dairren ever did! He probably thinks he owes Loghain a favour!"

Shortly after that, they came to the top of a small hill. In the dell below, they saw a group of men. Half a dozen armed soldiers surrounding a single, weaponless man in a tattered uniform.

"I know that man!" Alistair said quietly. "He was at Ostagar. One of the Kings' personal guard."

Just then, the leader of the soldiers stepped forward and knifed the lone man in the gut. At the same time, an arm encircled Killians' neck, a cold blade touched his throat, and a harsh voice said: "Keep still, and you might live..."

The rest of the sentence was lost in a squeal as Killians' hook embedded itself in the mans' groin. "Next time, don't stop to chat!" Killian told him.

Of course, the cat was now well and truly out of the bag, and quite a merry little scrap ensued. Bann Loren clearly lacked either the means or the brains to hire first-class troops, as the Warden party were able to take them all down without too much exertion.

They gathered round the stabbed man. Gut wounds take a long time to kill, but this man was clearly close to death. He looked round at them all, then spoke.

"I know you, you're Bryce Couslands' boy, the younger one. And you, you're that Grey Warden, Alistair. The one Cailan was so interested in. You remember me?"

"Yes." Alistair said. "You're Elric Maraigne, You were the captain of Cailans guards."

"He was my King, and my friend." Maraigne said, then coughed, bringing up blood. "Listen, I don't have long. Before the battle, Cailan gave me the key to his chest. There are papers in there, important ones. Ones Loghain must not find. And Marics' sword, that's there too. He told me that if anything were to happen to him, I was to give the key to the Grey Wardens, no-one else."

"So where is this key?" Cormac asked.

Elric laughed painfully. "The Maker has a sense of humour, doesn't he? I was afraid I'd lose the key in the battle, so I stashed it in the camp. Its' behind a loose stone under a statue, near where the Kings' tent was pitched, unless the Darkspawn found it.

"Look, when the battle started, and Cailan saw the size of the horde, he knew we couldn't win. There were too many, even with Loghains' men in reserve. Before we charged, he told me to get out, to stay alive, to get the key to the Wardens.

"But I stuck by him as long as I could. Then the signal went up from the Tower, and nobody came. We knew that Loghain had betrayed us. Cailan told me to run again, then that Ogre..." Elric closed his eyes, and tears ran down his cheeks. "It grabbed Cailan, picked him up and broke him and tossed him away like an old doll! Then I ran, but the Darkspawn were already in the fortress. I couldn't get to the key.

"You have to go to Ostagar. You have to find that key and take what's in that chest. It's important, for Ferelden and the future, Cailans' legacy. And if you find his body, don't let it rot among the Darkspawn."

He coughed again, then the cough became a rattle, and he was gone.

"If we're going back to Ostagar," Alistair said slowly, "I want to come. Call me sentimental, but I left a lot of Darkspawn back there that could really do with a sword through the middle."

"The events at Ostagar still haunt my dreams." Wynne added. "Should you return there, I would wish to go as well."

"We'll go." Cormac promised. "But there are things we have to do first. We need to do everything we can for Arl Eamon. That's our priority. Once he's well, we will go to Ostagar."

Their business at Redcliffe Castle was concluded quite speedily, in the end. Wynne volunteered to enter the Fade, much to the relief of a near-exhausted Morrigan. Under Irvings' direction, the Circle mages placed an obscenely-protesting Connor in a deep sleep. Then Wynne lay down near him on a hastily-fetched bed, and the ritual began. Within moments, Wynne too appeared to fall asleep.

"Now we wait." Irving said. "The Fade is a dangerous place, as you must all be aware by now. But I have every confidence in Wynnes' abilities."

At first, nothing happened. But then an expression of grim determination settled on Wynnes' features. Connor, on the other hand, began to thrash around and mumble inarticulately, as if troubled by bad dreams. Arlessa Isolde badly wanted to comfort her son, but Irving held her back sternly.

"We have forged a three-way connection between your son, the demon that possesses him, and Wynne." He told her. "Any interference, even from here, could sever that connection and leave either Connor or Wynne adrift in the Fade. Wynne might well find her way back, but Connor would be lost forever. Wynne must defeat the demon whilst maintaining her own connection with Connor, to guide him back."

Then, quite suddenly, Connor gave a deep, shuddering sigh and settled into what was clearly a natural sleep. A quiet smile lit Wynne's features as she opened her eyes.

"It is done." She said simply.

Arlessa Isolde offered them the use of the castle as a base, but both Cormac and Killian declined.

"It wouldn't be long," Killian explained, "before Teyrn Loghain found out you were harbouring Grey Wardens. Then you'd be in trouble!"

"While the Arl is still sick, he'll leave Redcliffe alone, you're no real threat without Eamon." Cormac told her. "We need to stay out of sight, keep moving until we have more numbers and support. We've arranged to meet our other friends about a day's march from here.

"Bann Teagan, Ser Perth and Master Murdock are more than capable of keeping the castle and village secure for now."

"As you wish, Grey Warden." Isolde replied. "First Enchanter Irving has asked that Jowan be handed over to the Circle, but I have decided he shall stay here, in the dungeons, until my husband can pass judgement upon him.

"Do you go now to seek the Ashes of Andraste?"

"Some of us, at least." Cormac said. "We have other missions to fulfil, as you know. If we can find the Ashes, we will, but we cannot set aside the struggle against the Darkspawn for the sake of one man, even Arl Eamon."

Isolde allowed that she understood this, and told them they would be in her prayers, whatever the outcome.

As they passed through the courtyard, they saw signs that life at Redcliffe was returning to normal. Ser Perth and Bann Teagan were drilling a squad of recruits, and Valena, in her new role as Housekeeper, was haggling with a merchant near the gate.

"Well, I hope the others had as much success and a lot less trouble in Denerim than we had in the Tower!" Alistair remarked.

"I may need to go to Denerim myself, soon." Killian noted. "It seems the most likely place to find out about this Soldiers' Peak Uldred talked about. Much as I'd like to see this through, I get the feeling that a clock is ticking for me somewhere."


	10. Chapter 10

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Ten: The Haunted Keep**

" _I will inspire the Wardens, and Arland will rue the day he spared my life._ "

 _Sophia Drydens' Journal_

"A school is a school, I suppose." Sirius was telling Henry. "We had our 'popular kids', too. For my sins, I was one of them."

"What was it like?" Henry asked. "I mean, I do OK at school, but I'm not one of the really popular ones."

"Looking back on it, it was bloody hard work -don't tell your mother about the language!" Sirius informed him. "Harder work than you'd have, you go to a day school. Hogwarts is a boarding school, remember, so we were there all the time during term. There was no let-up. You had to stay in character the whole time."

"In character?" Henry asked.

"Oh, come on!" Sirius exclaimed. "You don't think those super-cool kids are super-cool all the time, do you? Sometimes you have to use the loo, or squeeze your spots, or pick your nose. Some things you can't do with style. But in front of your admirers, you have to be who you're supposed to be, who they expect you to be, all the time. You sit on the khazi, trousers round your ankles, farting like a hippogriff with indigestion, and you hear some younger kids come into the toilet. So you sit there, and you sit, and you listen, and you hope to Pluto that nobody else comes in. Because you can't leave that stall until they're gone. If they see you come out, and realise it was you doing the baritone bum solo, you're finished. It'll be all over the school before breakfast the next day and you're Fartyarse Black for the rest of your life!"

Henry howled with laughter, then said: "If Mom knew you'd told me that, she'd kill you!"

"Be a change." Sirius allowed. "Usually, it wasn't the boys' mums who were out for my blood. It was the girls' dads. Or big brothers -I started young.

"I was the charmer, the glamour boy. James was the - what do you Americans call it -the jock. Remus was the quiet, witty one, and Peter...No, I don't want to talk about Peter. At least none of Harrys' friends let him down. Even poor little Neville Longbottom came good, so the books say.

"That's why I need to get home, Henry. There are people I need to thank. People I want to shake by the hand and tell 'em well done. And I want to spit on Voldemorts' grave, just once, for James and Lily."

Hendel, Elana and Shale were already at the chosen campsite when Killian and the others arrived, They had been joined by someone else, An Elf with fair hair, tanned skin and an easy smile, wearing hardened leather and carrying a longsword and poniard. He had a tattoo on one side of his face, but it was not the elaborate patterning favoured by Dalish Elves,

"It calls itself Zevran." Shale told them. "And it has a marked aversion to sleeping alone."

"What can I say?" Zevran asked in a heavily-accented tenor. "I am fond of company, and I hate to be cold!"

"Zev is, or was, a Crow." Elana explained.

"A Crow being?" Killian asked.

"The Crows are a guild of assassins, operating out of Antiva." Leliana told him. "Very old, very rich, very powerful. It is said they always get their man, or woman."

"Not this time, though." Elana said. "The Crows were hired by Loghain to take out any surviving Grey Wardens, and Zev here got the job. As you can see, he didn't succeed.

"It seems that the Crows take a fatally dim view of failure, so in the interest of keeping his vital organs on the inside, Zev offered us his services. He's good with locks, handy with a crossbow and quick with his blades. He also has some useful contacts and a cute bum, so it was a good deal all round."

"I'm not qualified to judge on the bum," Hendel said, "but Elana's right about the rest."

"Can we trust him?" Cormac wanted to know.

"I happen to be a very loyal person." Zevran said in a hurt tone. "Up to the point when someone expects me to die for failing.

"You understand, Warden, that one does not volunteer for the Crows. I was bought as a child in a slave market – we still have them in Antiva – and trained to kill. It was made clear to me every day that I was completely expendable, that my value depended solely on my efficiency, and that a single slip would cost me everything.

"Working for this Loghain fellow was just one more job, I would succeed or die. But instead I found myself lying bound at the feet of this deadly sex-goddess. Do you wonder I grasped at the chance to free myself? The Grey Wardens are known and feared throughout Thedas. After my failure, even the Crows will not make another attempt. With you, I am safe.

"That you have need of my talents is clear. Anyone who requires the services of two mages, a Golem and an Orlesian Bard – yes, pretty one, I recognise you for what you are – obviously has a formidable task before them. Since you are Grey Wardens, I can assume the task is a worthy one. So for now, I am your man, without reservation."

"I'll accept that." Cormac said. "But if I get the slightest inkling of any funny business, I'll feed you to my mabari, understood?"

Zevran bowed his head.

The next order of business was to exchange stories. Cormac and Alistair shared the tale of what had happened at the Tower of Magi, then Elana and Hendel reported on their mission.

"We got to Denerim without any trouble." Hendel told them. "Seems the civil war is heating up, and Loghains' men are too busy trying to quell upstart banns to spend much time searching for us. We did get pressed into service by a Guard sergeant called Kylon, though. Paid us 600 silver to chase some mercenaries out of a whorehouse and an inn. The Chanters' Board was offering coin to take out a few street gangs as well, so we took that on -nothing wrong with a bit of practice, right?

"But the upshot is that Sergeant Kylon is now definitely on our side, and he knows Denerim like the back of his hand. I also ran into my old second, Gorim. He was exiled same time I was, and now he's married to a smiths' daughter and sells weapons and armour in the Denerim market. He told us that Rendon Howe is now the Arl of Denerim and nobody's happy about it.

"Not only is he drafting half the able-bodied men in the city, he's also hiring mercenaries from all over. The mercenaries wander around, acting like they own the town, and the guards can hardly keep order. Taxes are up, and there've been riots among the city Elves. The Alienage is locked down tight, we couldn't get in, not even Elana."

"But we found Brother Genitivis' home." Elana went on. "He wasn't there, but somebody called Weylon, who claimed to be his assistant, was. It took some doing, but we managed to get it out of Weylon that Genitivi was staying at an inn at the docks on Lake Calenhad, near the Circle Tower.

"So we made our way out there, wondering if we'd meet you coming back from the Tower. The inn was there all right, and a gloomy little place it is. The landlord claimed he'd never heard of the Brother, but I didn't believe him. When I pressed him, he admitted he was being watched and his family was being threatened.

"Then when we left, we were ambushed. Not bandits, or professionals. They acted like fanatics. It wasn't pretty at all.

"So, back we went to Denerim, to have words with Weylon. But on the way, we get ambushed again, by this handsome devil." She grinned at Zevran. "So the trip wasn't a total waste!"

Hendel cleared his throat, mock-grumpily, and took up the narrative. "We confronted Weylon, and he starts ranting about serving the 'Risen Andraste', whoever or whatever she might be. Then he started throwing spells around, and finally he head-butted Shale here right on the fist!"

"Honestly!" Alistair said disgustedly. "Some people!"

"Good manners, alas, are a thing of the past." Shale noted dolefully. "I doubt that it either knew or cared how difficult it is to get blood off ones' knuckles."

"So, we search the place." Zevran told them. "We find a body that we think must be the real Weylon. Also we find much writing, which belongs to this Brother Genitivi. They are rough notes – he must have taken his completed work with him – but they tell us much.

"There is, it seems, a village called Haven, away to the west, at the southern end of the Frostback Mountains. This village is high in the foothills, under a mountain. Some way up the mountain is a ruin from the Tevinter Imperium. The notes say that there is a legend that the followers of Andraste came and stayed in that temple after she was burned in Minrathous. Also they say that through this temple is the only way to reach a shrine at the mountains' peak.

"We think that Genitivi believed that the Urn of Sacred Ashes rests in that shrine. We also think that some cult, those who speak of the Risen Andraste, wishes to keep all others from this shrine."

There was much discussion following this, until Killian pointed out that it was late, everybody had had a long day, and nobody was making much sense. Wynne agreed with this and, in her stern, motherly way, shooed everyone off to bed.

The morning brought a fresh surprise, the arrival of a merchant who hobbled his mule at the edge of their camp and approached Killian directly. He was a tall, thin fellow with a long face and steady eyes.

"You're the Grey Warden who was talking about Soldiers' Peak." He said without preamble.

Killian blinked, then replied. "Yes. If memory serves, you're the merchant who was haggling with Valena in the courtyard at Redcliffe Castle yesterday morning."

The merchant nodded. By this time, the others had gathered round, and his eye fell on Alistair. "I remember you!" He said. "The last time I saw old Duncan he was taking you into the Warden compound in Denerim."

"He was?" Alistair frowned. "I don't recall you, friend."

The trader shook his head. "You wouldn't, I didn't stop to speak, knew he was busy. I don't suppose he ever mentioned me, did he? Levi? Levi of the Coins? Levi the Trader? No?" He sighed. "I'm not surprised, he had a lot on his mind by then, but he was a friend of mine.

"Look, my full name is Levi Dryden. That mean anything to you?"

There was a moments' silence, then Cormac said hesitantly. "There was once a noble family of that name, Dryden. I heard that they were stripped of their lands and titles, attainted for treason by King Arland."

Levi nodded. "That's true, as far as it goes. We lost our land, our honour, but not our pride or our backbone. We became merchants, and we've done pretty well for ourselves."

"So what does that have to do with me or Duncan?" Killian asked.

"Well, it's like this," Levi said, "nobody really knows what went on in Arlands' time. His reign ended in a civil war loads worse than this one. Lots of records were destroyed, some by accident, some on purpose."

"I've heard that." Cormac put in. "My old tutor used to say that both sides in that war tried to destroy all the records, because they were both in the wrong!"

"Well, that's as may be, and I'm not surprised." Levi allowed. "But what concerns me, and you, is one of the last things Arland did before the war started. It was him who declared the Grey Wardens traitors and banished them from Ferelden until Good King Maric let them back in thirty years ago.

"That interests me because my great-great-grandmother, Sophia Dryden, was the last Warden-Commander of Ferelden. In those days, Soldiers' Peak was the Warden Headquarters in this land. They say it was a fortress second only to Weisshaupt itself. Arland laid siege to it for months, he did, and finally the Wardens came out to fight. Sold their lives dearly, it's said, but they all died, Sophia among them.

"But nobody knows why Arland turned against them, and after the siege was over, he destroyed all the maps that led to the Peak. See, the fortress is perched on top of a mountain, north-west of Denerim, and the only way to reach it is through a maze of old mining tunnels.

"Well, after all this time, we Drydens wanted to know why it all happened. So over the years, we've been going to those mines and exploring, trying to find a way through. It was out that way I met Duncan, years ago now. He was looking for the Peak too, for his own reasons. Reckoned the Denerim compound was a little too cramped and not too safe if the wind should change again. So we agreed to share our findings, and if one of us found the way, we'd take the other with them when we went.

"Last time I spoke to Duncan was over a year ago. He told me then that a Blight was coming, and that he'd be too busy to help with our project for a bit. I kept looking. I figured that if there was a Blight on the way, finding a safe place would be a good idea.

"Then a month ago, I finally found the way through. But I didn't go up to the Keep itself. Partly because I'd promised Duncan, but mostly because there's something...not quite right...about the place. I'll admit it, I was scared.

"So I came back south, hoping to find Duncan, to let him know at least. But by the time I get back, there's a Blight in full swing, a bloody civil war in the middle of it, and my poor friend is dead. I'd about given up and gone back to trading, but in Redcliffe I hear about Grey Wardens saving the town. So I go up to the Castle to see if I can find out more, and overhear this gent with the hook talking about the Peak.

"If you need to go there, Warden, I can guide you. All I ask is that you help me find out what happened to Sophia and why."

Having said his piece, Levi withdrew to a discreet distance, allowing the Warden party to hold a council.

"It's obvious," Cormac stated, "that somebody or something badly needs Killian to go to Soldiers' Peak."

"Mention the hand of the Maker," Alistair warned Leliana, "and I'll be forced to strangle you!"

"Maker or no, it is clear that our friend here serves a higher purpose than even he imagines." Wynne told them.

"I'm afraid you're right, Wynne." Killian allowed. "Damn! I'd just got used to the notion of being a Grey Warden and staying here. That cat was right about me being a wanderer!" He brushed aside their questions. "Not important right now. We need to decide who does what. Anyone got any idea about how long Arl Eamon has left?"

Morrigan shrugged. "Jowan and some of the Circle mages have him in care. Jowan knows the poison he used, and there is no cure, but the effects can be slowed. We have some time, but not overmuch."

"So we need to get the Ashes, if we can." Killian thought for a moment, then. "What I think is this. Cormac, you need to take Alistair, Leliana and Wynne with you to this Haven place. You all believe in this Maker of yours, and I'll bet whatever or whoever protects the Ashes will have deep problems with unbelievers. The four of you and Rufus should be able to handle anything you meet.

"The rest of us should go to Soldier's Peak. Any destiny of mine apart, it sounds like a Hell of a fortress, and we need a base that neither the Darkspawn nor Loghain can get at easily. We can only wander about for so long. We need a place we can meet people at, and retreat to if things go sour."

There wasn't much discussion. The only modification to Killians' plan was the decision that Shale should join Cormacs' party. The country they were heading into was rapidly falling into Darkspawn hands, and the nigh-indestructible Golem would be of more use to them than to Killians' group.

"As long as I get to grind something into a thin paste from time to time," Shale remarked, "I really don't care where I do it!"

"Told you I'd guide you right, Warden!" Levi announced triumphantly as they emerged at the foot of a snow-covered pass.

"Admit it," Hendel commented, "you got turned around in there once or twice!"

"Aye, I did." Levi allowed. "And grateful I am for your help, Ser Hendel."

The pass was steep and narrow, it took a sudden sharp turn, then narrowed even more between two shoulders of rock. Across the narrowest part was a fortified wall with a gateway in it. The gate itself was long gone, and the towers that had guarded it showed nothing but dark, empty windows. Beyond the gap was a glimpse of a keep and a tower.

"I only got a little further than this, last time." Levi admitted. "Beyond that gate, things got...strange."

"After all we have seen," Morrigan remarked, "the merely strange will be a welcome relief!"

It happened the moment they stepped through the gate. There was a sudden blur in the air, then they saw them. Soldiers, in armour, moving in the ordered chaos of men in battle. It was as if they were seeing them through a closed window -they were present but remote. Sounds and voices also seemed to come from a distance.

" _Fall back! Fall back, dammit!" One man was shouting. "We can't breach the Keep!"_

" _What shall we do?" Another man asked._

" _We'll have to starve them out." The officer replied. "We've no way in, but they don't have a way out."_

" _They have months of supplies!" A soldier pointed out._

" _So do we." Was the answer. "And we can get more. They can't. We wait until they're weak and starving, then we take them!"_

Then it was over. "I told you." Levi said. "You did see that, didn't you? I'm not going mad?"

"We saw." Killian said grimly. "The Veil must be thin here. We're close to the Fade, right, Morrigan?"

"Closer than I would wish to be." She noted.

They looked around. Whoever had chosen this site for the Warden fortress had chosen well. Unreachable from the plains except by a maze of tunnels, Soldiers' Peak was set in a depression half-way up a mountain. This roughly-circular formation was surrounded by sheer, unscalable walls of stone. At places where an enterprising force might attempt a climb, short spans of fortified wall and defensive towers had been built. The only access was the fortified pass they had come through.

The fortress itself backed onto the mountain. A massive Keep, whose great iron doors, still intact, could only be reached by a narrow, steep stair overlooked by archery slits and murder holes, stood in front. Behind, built on a shelf in the mountainside and reachable only by a bridge from the upper floor of the Keep, was a tall, slender Tower which would provide an unimpeded view of the surrounding area.

"Maker!" Levi said. "This is a real fortress! And it seems mostly intact. I'd have thought Arlands' men would have destroyed the place!"

"Not half bad." Hendel noted. "Give me a year and a hundred of my kin, and I would make this a place that armies would break upon like water!"

"Now where did that come from?" Elana wanted to know. "Bit eloquent for you, my laconic friend."

"Was, wasn't it?" Hendel admitted. "No idea what made me say it, though it's true."

Morrigan had been scraping and prodding with her staff at one of the many suggestive mounds in the snow that covered the ward.

"Killian," she said. "look here."

She had uncovered a human skeleton, fully, if somewhat rustily, armoured. "If all these mounds cover the same thing," she noted, "then something unusual happened here. 'Tis not common, as Levi says, for besieging forces to leave a place so intact if they do not occupy it. Nor do armies leave their dead where they lie unless they are pursued or terrified to return for them."

"Doesn't sound good, does it?" Killian commented. "Eyes peeled, everybody. Levi, stay back out of the way, matey."

Then the inevitable happened, several of the snow-covered mounds got up and went on the attack!

"Somebody," Killian declared, "is having a laugh!"

They hacked their way through the undead in the ward, only to be attacked by more on the stairs. These were reinforced by more of the wraith-creatures Killian had encountered before.

As the last one went down, Zevran wiped his blades and commented. "I do hope that the fashion for non-permanent death does not catch on. I have killed many, and though for me it was a matter of business, should they revive, they might take it personally."

The doors were closed, but not locked, and well-balanced enough to swing open easily. Inside was a large ante-chamber, and as soon as they entered it, the air blurred again.

A tall, dark-haired woman in heavy armour stood in the centre of the room. Around her were gathered a large group of men and women, including Elves and Dwarfs, warriors and mages. She was speaking to them, intensely, passionately.

" _We knew this day would come, brothers and sisters! Our bellies groan with hunger, our minds fear the numbers arrayed against us. But what of our hearts?_

" _My heart says to me that I am Sophia Dryden, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. My family may be attainted, this noble Order accused of treason, our position hopeless, but what of that? I for one will not surrender, only to dance on Arlands' gallows! I will not buy a few more days of life at the price of a shameful death! Shall you? Any of you?_

" _We are Grey Wardens, the Darkspawn flee at the sound of our horns! Should we then surrender to the whims of a mere human tyrant? What though we are all slain? Let us fight! Let us show this King that we do not fear. Let us make them pay as high a price as we can for each Warden life they take. Let them remember us with fear and respect!"_

"My great-great grandmother?" Levi asked. "Was that her?"

"If it was, then she was a valiant woman, if a foolish one." Morrigan said. "To lock oneself in a fortress with no escape route points to a failure of foresight at least."

"When this fortress was built," Elana told her, "the Grey Wardens rode griffons. No doubt the builders thought this would always be the case, and that escape would be made by air."

They had been searching around as they talked, and now Hendel found a piece of parchment. "A letter," he told them, "from Arl somebody-or-other. It's faded, but I can still make out some of it. Apparently some Bann and his family were arrested and executed, and a Chantry priest -a Revered Mother no less – was poisoned. He's begging the Wardens for help."

"But the Grey Wardens don't get involved in politics!" Elana said. "We're independent of all that sort of thing."

"Ah, if only that were true, my love!" Zevran chuckled cynically. "The Chantry always claims the same, but alas, it is never so. It is true that the Wardens, unlike the Chantry, at least try to live up to the claim. But a word spoken in the wrong place, to the wrong person, can make unneeded allies and unwanted enemies regardless of intent. The Wardens of Antiva are as much part of our politics as the guilds and the nobles.

"Here in Ferelden, where politics are less sophisticated, perhaps the Wardens could stay more apart. But a large body of trained warriors is always a political force, whether part of a faction or no."

Political or not, there was clearly something very wrong about the fortress. Time and again, waves of reanimated corpses attacked the party. They seemed to wear two liveries, one with winged helmets and griffon badges, which Killian took to be Grey Warden gear, and the others with the familiar dogs'-head crest of Fereldan royal troops.

They came to the Great Hall, on an upper floor. This room was oddly clear of corpses, but instead there was something else. Around the room were what seemed to be three pools, about three feet across. Some kind of magical barrier surrounded each one, and from what Killian could see, their surfaces were dark, but agitated, swirling with unnameable colours. Then the air blurred again. This time a battle-royal was going on in the room, Arlands' troops against Wardens.

In the middle of it all was the figure of Sophia Dryden, dealing out death and destruction to right and left.

" _Hold the line!" She bellowed._

" _There are too many!" Someone replied desperately._

" _Avernus! Now!" Sophia yelled._

 _A tall mage at the rear of the room began making arcane gestures and chanting in an unknown language. At the spots where the 'pools' now lay, the all-too-familiar figures of demons began to emerge. throwing Arlands' men into immediate panic._

" _More, Avernus!" Sophia commanded. "Whatever it takes!"_

 _Avernus began to chant again, then stopped as he realised that the demons were attacking both sides indiscriminately._

" _No!" He cried. "Attack only the Kings' men, I command you!"_

 _A nearby demon turned to him. "You fool, Avernus!" It hissed. "It is too late, you are ours now. Now we are here where there is so much hatred, fear, pain and...oh, yes...blood!"_

 _Avernus cast a spell that knocked the demon down. "Acolytes, retreat!" He shouted. "The battle is lost!"_

 _He turned and fled through a door in the corner, other mages trying to follow him._

" _Avernus!" Sophia called after him. "AVERNUS!"_

As the vision faded, demons swarmed out of the pools and for a while, there was nothing but desperate fighting.

Killian was more than a little surprised to see everyone standing when the last of the Fade-dwellers was gone. _Getting better at this!_ He thought.

"Demons!" Elana was saying. "I can't believe they summoned demons!"

"Demons, blood magic." Hendel shrugged. "Duncan told me that the Wardens have always done whatever it takes to win. But that's against Darkspawn. Against humans? That's going a bit far!"

"'Twas foolish, indeed." Morrigan pointed out. "It has rent the Veil around this place. But the infection should have spread beyond the Peak, and it has not. Something here still holds it in check."

"Then we need to find out what." Killian said. "If it can hold it, it might just be able to stop it."

A short flight of stairs led up out of the hall to an imposing wooden door. Beyond it was a largish room that was clearly an office or study of some kind. Behind a large desk stood a tall figure who held up a hand as they entered.

"Stay!" It said. "This one would speak with you!"

"And you are? Killian asked.

"This one is Sophia, Warden, Dryden, Commander. Many things." It replied.

The figure was the same, and the mass of dark hair. But the face was corpse-grey, the lips blue. There were patches of blackened flesh on it, as if natural decay were being held back by will alone. Only the eyes were alive, and they were not human.

"It looks as if your great-great-grandmother is possessed, Levi." Hendel remarked.

"Either that," Levi replied, " or she's _really_ let herself go!"

"Listen!" the thing that had been Sophia Dryden spoke urgently. "This one is kept here by the enchantments of the old mage. This one would go forth and see the world she has only seen through the Sophias' memories. Go to the Tower and kill the old mage. This one will seal the portals and then go free. This one can also tell the other Dryden of the Sophias' life. What say you?"

Killian glanced at Levi, who shook his head. "I'd rather have the story from a source I can trust!"

Killian turned back to the demon. "Sorry." He said. "I've seen the results of bargains with your kind. It never ends well."

The demon came out from behind the desk. "Consider." It said. "Do you really wish to battle this one? It would not be..."

The sentence ended in a horrible gurgle. The demon looked down in amazement at its chest, where a foot of blade was protruding. The fluid that ran out of the wound might once have been blood, but now it was green-black, thin and foetid. Killian stepped forward, drawing his sword, and split the skull from crown to chin. As the body fell, centuries of decay seemed to catch up with it, so that all that reached the floor was bones in rusted armour.

The falling corpse revealed the grinning face of Zevran. "I am good, no?" He asked.

"I've seen worse." Killian allowed, and Zev laughed and bowed floridly.

"The Tower, then?" Morrigan asked.

"Looks like it." Killian agreed.

There were a couple of undead archers on the bridge, but the Tower itself was empty. They made their way up through a few rooms that held ample but ancient evidence of grisly experiments. Finally they emerged into a room that took up and entire floor. A room lined with bookshelves and filled with workbenches. At one of these benches stood a tall, thin figure in mage robes. As they approached he said, without looking up: "I hear you. Give me a moment."

The voice was dry, rusty from disuse, but human. When he turned, they recognised him. The hair was gone, the face was thinner and more lined, pale with the natural pallor of too long spent indoors, too much work and too little sleep, but it was undoubtedly the mage they had seen in the vision in the great hall.

"Avernus?" Killian asked. "You're still alive?"

Avernus bowed. "As you see. I am Avernus, Mage of the Circle of Ferelden, Grey Warden and, for the last few centuries, custodian of this fortress.

"So, the Wardens have finally returned to Soldiers' Peak. And the One-Handed Man is among them. Unexpected, but welcome. I presume I have you to thank for the current hiatus?"

"We killed a few demons." Hendel allowed.

"Enough to prevent others flooding through with their normal determination." Avernus told him. "But we must be swift. If I am to close the portals, it must be now, while only a few can come through. But I cannot do this and protect myself at the same time. Shall I have your aid, or no?"

"Hang on!" Killian said. "What's this about the One-Handed Man?"

"No time!" Avernus snapped. "If we succeed, I will tell you all. Should we fail, it will not matter. But we cannot delay for tales now!"

Killian knew the mage was right. Morrigan, more attuned to the Fade than the rest, was growing increasingly uneasy. "Let's go!" He said.

The trip back to the hall was quick. Despite his appearance of decrepitude, Avernus moved with long, purposeful strides, a look of eagerness on his face.

"This is my one chance to set right my blunder." He told Killian as they went. "I will not squander it!"

Avernus moved directly to the nearest portal and began to chant. As soon as he began, demons emerged from the other two and made for him with an air of desperation. But it seemed that the damage the party had done earlier had somehow weakened the portals so that only less powerful demons could come through. Not that it made the fight easy, just more survivable.

The closing ritual was a short one, which also helped. But the demons which appeared in answer to Avernus' beginning to work on the second portal were even more furious than the previous ones. While he was closing the third portal, however, more powerful demons tried to intervene. Unable to use the portal itself, they had to force their way directly through the strengthening Veil. This slowed and weakened them, but did not make protecting the mage anything of a sinecure.

By the time all was done, everyone was hurting and Morrigan was down, badly injured. While Elana and Zevran patched her up, the others spoke with Avernus.

"It was my doing, the summoning, but at Sophias' bidding." He told them. "My research was originally intended to unlock the full potential of the Grey Wardens. For generations they had used Darkspawn blood in the Joining, aware of the dangers, but not of the full benefits. I wanted to learn how to control the darkness the mastered taint brings with it, and use it fully, as a weapon.

"But then when Sophia decided we should join the rebellion, she asked me to turn my research into a way to control summoned demons. I warned her that my work was not fully complete, but by the end we were all desperate, so I took the risk. Foolishly, as it turned out.

"But one thing my work did achieve was the means of extending my life. Thus I have been able to remain here and maintain the wards which kept the rent in the Veil from spreading and confined the demons to the Peak."

"But why did the Wardens join a rebellion?" Levi asked. "Sophia was my great-great-grandmother. I came here to find out what happened."

Avernus sighed. "For most of us, it was about resisting a tyrant. For Sophia, it was personal. As the head of the Drydens, she stood against Arland, her cousin, for election to the throne at the Landsmeet In those days, rivalries and feuds among the Banns were intense and often bloody. It was known that Sophia would not countenance this and, as Queen, would impose order on the Bannorn. Those who had gained most from the continuing conflict allied themselves with Arland because they believed him a simpleton who could be ignored or manipulated.

"They were wrong, and no sooner was Arland elected King than he produced false evidence marking Sophia a traitor. The then Warden-Commander, to save her life, invoked the Right of Conscription. This suited Arland, who was minded to preserve, at first, an appearance of magnanimity. If his popular and dangerous cousin died in the Joining, his hands were clean. If she lived, she could no longer hold her titles or involve herself in politics.

"So Sophia was torn from her husband and children and became a Grey Warden. Over the ensuing years, Arland showed his true colours. Treacherous, brutal, tyrannical. A murderer by poison and corrupt justice, a despoiler of women and boys, a monster who revelled in pain and death. But as he fell deeper into villainy, Sophia rose in the ranks of the Wardens. She could do nothing to intervene as her family was attainted, her husband slain and her children driven out. But she became Warden-Commander at an age younger than any other had done.

"So when those Arls and Banns who had seen enough of Arlands' rule came to the Wardens for aid, they found a ready ear in her. As to the rest of us, we too were sickened at Arlands' excesses. And we were loyal to Sophia. But we were betrayed, and Arland laid siege to the Peak before the others were ready to come to our aid. But that act proved the last straw for many, and soon after our fall, the rest of Ferelden rose."

"So much for history." Killian said. "Now, what about the other thing?"

Avernus gave a crooked smile. "Since the Peak fell, I have been visited four times. The first was a brilliant madman who appeared from nowhere in a blue box, and helped me set up the wards.

"The second was a warrior in black and gold armour, who slew demons like flies. He gave me a periapt which strengthened the wards, and bade me watch out for the return of Grey Wardens, accompanied by a one-handed man. A man in search of 'knowledge I had given to another'.

"The third, less than a year ago, was mage of the circle named Uldred. He traded much demonic lore – including the missing elements of the ritual needed to close the portals – for knowledge on how to pass between Realms. When I asked for his aid in closing the portals, however, he laughed in my face and fled.

"Then you came, and I assume it is to you, Ser Killian, that I must give this knowledge?"

"I just need to know how to get back where I came from." Killian told him.

"My debt to you far exceeds such a small payment." Avernus noted. "But so be it. I have the necessary glyph-pattern and lyrium in the Tower. But to cast the spell successfully, you must do so as close to the point at which you entered this realm as possible."

That, Killian knew, meant returning to Ostagar. "Oh, marvellous!" He muttered.


	11. Chapter 11

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Chapter Eleven: Fate of a Grey Warden**

" _I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,_

 _And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,"_

 _"Sea Fever" by John Masefield_

The owner of the sports store in Storybrooke had been more than willing to kit Sirius out for this trip. How muggles managed it without magic, Sirius did not know, but despite the howling wind and the swirling snow, he was comfortably warm. The colouring – which he had been assured was 'high-visibility' – was not even very garish. At least not by wizard standards.

Nevertheless, this trip had been a wasted one. There had been a map in Golds' store, and it had pointed to an 'Eternal City' at this point in the mountains. But the path the map indicated was blocked by an unseasonable blizzard. Sirius would have to come back another day. He still didn't understand quite how he had got here – he'd been aiming for the other side of the pass. But if this GPS device he'd been given in Storybrooke was correct, he was at least two miles off-target. It wasn't like him. Could this non-magical world be interfering with his powers?

"You can't get in." Someone said from behind him, a mans' voice, deep and accustomed to command.

Sirius spun, whipping out his wand. The man facing him was as tall as he, but broader, powerfully-built. He wore a fur jerkin, woollen breeches and knee-high boots, with a heavy fur-lined cloak over all. The hood of the cloak shadowed the face, but the man had tensed, and his gauntleted right hand gripped the hilt of a long sword, partially-drawn.

"Be calm." The man said. "I mean you no harm. I bring a message, that's all."

Sirius lowered his wand. "A message?" He asked. "From whom? And who are you?"

The man straightened, letting his sword slide back into the sheath. The he threw back his hood, revealing a handsome face, tanned from a healthy, outdoor life and marked with lines of experience. He was perhaps in his early fifties, for the long blond hair was shot with silver. His eyes were blue, unwavering, and there was an odd circular scar in the centre of his forehead.

"I am Duke Dorian Hawkmoon von Koln, sometime servant of the Runestaff and bearer of the spirit of the Champion Eternal. You, I know, are Sirius Black, and you seek a way into Tanelorn."

"How do you know me?" Sirius demanded. "How do you know what I am seeking?"

"I know what you are seeking because I was told, by someone I have cause to trust." Hawkmoon replied. "I know of you because I once was you, or you are now what I once was. These things are hard to explain, and I am a soldier, not a philosopher."

Sirius allowed himself a wry smile. "If not for the things I've learned these past few days, Duke Dorian, I'd have dismissed you as a lunatic. But I've read about the Champion Eternal, in books of fantasy. Only now I realise that what is imagination in one realm might well be reality in another!

"But you make it sound like I am one of these Champions?"

Hawkmoon shrugged. "As your godson was before you, I am told. But this is not the Multiverse I know. That ended at the Conjunction of the Million Spheres, and I had my part in its passing. I am that aspect of the Champion who was rewarded by being allowed to live out my life in peace, but now I have been given one last task, not as Champion, but simply as Hawkmoon.

"I am to tell you that you are not permitted to enter Tanelorn at this time. To do so would cause untold disruption. You must return to Storybrooke and await the return of the One-Handed Man."

Sirius nodded. "I understand, and thank you. But one more thing...you implied that Harry is also the Champion. How can he and I both be that person?"

Hawkmoon shook his head. "The Champion is not a person, but a role, a duty, that passes from person to person as needed. Harry Potter was the Champion your world needed, when it needed him to be. Now he plays another part.

"But I must go, Sirius Black. My family awaits me. May good fortune go with you, Sir Champion!"

Then he was gone, and Sirius was once again alone in the mountains. The wind still blew, but this time it seemed to hold voices, one that wept bitterly while the other laughed mockingly.

The journey back to Redcliffe was a slow one. Though Elana and Zevran had done their best, Morrigan was still barely fit to travel. Despite her insistence that she could manage, they made her ride in Levis' wagon.

"It's just until we meet up with the others." Elana told her. "Wynnes' a first-class Healer, she'll have you right as rain in no time. It's only four days' to Redcliffe."

"Four days in this bouncing vehicle," Morrigan moaned, "will see me two in my grave!"

"Then we'll be the first people in the world," Hendel snorted, "to hear a dead woman complain for two days!"

Clearly events had marched at Redcliffe, because the sight that greeted them as they approached the gate was the head of the apostate mage, Jowan, set on a pike beside the path.

"One less Blood Mage." Elana noted.

When they entered the courtyard, they met the looming figure of Shale. "So," he said, looking down at Killian, "it is still alive. Did it have fun? I did."

Then there was a squeal of delight from the doorway, and Leliana was hugging everybody. The commotion brought the rest out, and there was a good deal of hugging, backslapping and arm-punching.

"Yes, we found the Urn." Cormac said finally. "We brought back a pinch of the Ashes and Arl Eamon is back on his feet."

"It was the most profound experience of my life!" Leliana said with wide-eyed solemnity. "I still feel unworthy. Blessed, but unworthy."

"Well, the good news from this end is that Soldiers' Peak is now back in Warden hands." Killian told them. "The bad news is that Morrigan is hurt. Wynne, could you?"

"Of course." Wynne replied. "Come, young lady! We'll see what we can do."

"Come." Cormac said. "The Arl will want to see you."

Arl Eamon of Redcliffe was a tall, broad-shouldered man with an impressive grey beard. Still pale from his long illness, he nonetheless held himself in a manner far removed from that of a frail convalescent. Flanked by Bann Teagan -who for once looked well-rested – and a radiant but somewhat chastened Isolde, he smiled at Killian and the others.

"Ser Cormac has told me of your valiant part in rescuing my family and obtaining help for my son." He said without preamble. "I therefore extend to you the same honour I have given your other companions, and name you all Champions of Redcliffe. I also ask you to accept these small tokens of my personal gratitude."

Various small gifts were handed out. Killian received a sturdy but supple leather belt, bearing an ornate but obviously ancient buckle.

"A Buckle of the Winds." Arl Eamon told him. "A rare artefact highly valued by those who go into harms' way. They are said to increase the effectiveness of armour and to make the wearer a more difficult target."

"Every little helps." Killian allowed. "Where I come from, men tell of a sword whose scabbard prevents the wearer from losing blood, no matter how deeply he is wounded."

"Would that we had time for tales." Eamon remarked with genuine regret. "But events press on us."

"That they do." Killian agreed. "I see you wasted no time in dealing with Jowan."

"I wish it had been with less wrangling." Eamon admitted. "Despite his treason, Jowan was of great help to us during Connors'...illness...as well as mine. For that, First Enchanter Irving would have offered him the Rite of Tranquility. This I might have countenanced – mages are a matter for the Circle to deal with – but for Knight-Commander Harrith. He was sent here with a small force of Templars to reinforce Redcliffes' defences, and insisted that, according to Knight-Commander Greagoirs' original sentence, Jowan should be put to death. He demanded I turn the mage over to the Templars, but Jowan begged me not to."

"Don't blame him." Alistair said. "The Templars wouldn't just have executed him. They'd have tortured him to find the names of other Blood Mages."

"So I gather." Arl Eamon said. "In any event, I am still Arl here, and so I exercised my rights. In recognition of his repentance and help, Jowan was permitted to take poison. He was already dead when his head was cut off. This is, so Isolde tells me, an old Orlesian custom for confessed traitors."

"It was originally done so that a noble might not be disgraced by dying at the hands of a commoner." The Arlessa explained. "Jowan was no noble, but he had earned a painless demise, at least."

"So much for the past." Eamon stated. "Now we must look to the future. I do not know what madness has gripped Teyrn Loghain, but he must be stopped. I had not thought him so ambitious."

Killian shook his head. "I'm willing to bet," he said, "that Loghain either suspected or knew that King Cailan was considering an alliance with Orlais against the Blight. I've seen men like Loghain before, old soldiers who can't stop fighting the last war. He sees Orlais as more of a threat to Ferelden than any Archdemon."

"You may be correct, Ser Killian," Eamon agreed, "but Loghains' motives count for less than the consequences of his actions. A Blight is bearing down on us, but Ferelden is torn by civil war. We must unite the country, either under Loghain, or someone else. That can only be done at a Landsmeet.

"This gives us two choices. Either I swear allegiance to Loghain, despite his treachery to my nephew, in the hope that this will convince others to do the same, or we take another path.

"That path will be harder, the outcome uncertain, but if we succeed, it will be better for Ferelden. We must present the Landsmeet with another candidate for the throne. Someone with a clear, indisputable claim. A claim by blood."

"Wait a minute!" Alistair blurted. "Are you talking about me? Because it would have been nice if you'd asked me first! I don't want to be King, I wouldn't know how!"

"Believe me, Alistair, I understand." Eamon said gently. "If there were any other choice, I would spare you this. But you are Marics' son. I have a letter written in his own hand confirming this, which he entrusted to me long ago, in case the worst should happen.

"As to your capability, you are not such a fool as you pretend to be. You are a simple, direct man, which is a good quality in a King – Cailan had it, as did Maric. You also have the mental discipline of your Templar training, which will stand you in good stead. Your courage and battle-skill are beyond any doubt. And you have good, wise friends to counsel you.

"But this can wait. For now, I must assemble my people, send messengers to my allies, and summon the Landsmeet. This will take time. Time which you Grey Wardens should use to assemble your forces. The mages are already with you, but you must now approach the Dwarfs and the Dalish Elves.

"I will leave you now to take counsel amongst yourselves. Maker watch over you all."

"It's not so much about where we go," Cormac said, "we all know that. It's about who goes where."

"Somebody needs to go to Ostagar." Hendel said. "Before Loghain finds out that Cailan left documents there. Also, it'll look better at the Landsmeet if Alistair turns up wearing Cailans' armour and carrying Marics' sword."

"Oh, great!" Alistair said. "Is everybody out to crown me? You do realise, don't you, that Cormacs' family were Teyrns of Highever before Calenhad united Ferelden? He's as good a candidate as I am, and better suited to the job!"

"You are the last of the Theirins, Alistair." Wynne told him sternly but kindly. "You have your duty, as we all do. Cailan thought highly of you, this I know. And now I realise he knew the truth about you. That is why he tried to keep you safe at Ostagar. You owe this to his memory, Alistair."

"I know." He replied. "That's why this is so hard. I dread letting him down."

"Of course you do, which is why you won't." Cormac told him. "It's also why you're coming with me to Ostagar. I know Killian needs to come, as well. It's his only way home, after all. Who else, then?"

"I think I will come with you." Wynne said. "I still have nightmares about that place, and I need to face them."

"And I," Leliana said, "wish to go wherever you go, Cormac."

"Which leaves the rest of us to deal with the Dalish and the Dwarfs." Hendel concluded. "That makes sense. Elana is Dalish, so that means the clans will give us a hearing at least. As for Orzammar, whatever little brother Bhelen has got up to since I left won't have changed things too much. I may not be the greatest politician in the world – in Dwarf terms anyway – but the rest of you would be in well over your heads!

"We'll need Zevran for his craftiness, Morrigan for her magic and Shale for brute force and sarcasm."

"Done, then!" Cormac said. "But supper and a good nights' sleep, first!"

Killian was surprised when the soft knock at his door after dinner proved to be Hendel. The Dwarf Grey Warden looked unusually grim, and began to speak without preamble.

"I need to ask you something, Killian, and it won't be easy. But I need you to promise."

"Promise what?" Killian asked. "Spit it out, Hendel."

"I need you to promise that, whatever happens, you won't let the Darkspawn take Leliana alive." Hendel told him. "Even if you have to kill her yourself to prevent it!"

"I didn't think the Darkspawn took prisoners." Killian said.

"Oh, they do!" Hendel assured him. "Not Grey Wardens, but ordinary soldiers, or civilians. Some for the pot, some to be worked to death in the tunnels and forges. But the women... Have you ever wondered how Darkspawn multiply, Killian?"

"Can't say as I have, now you mention it." Killian admitted. "I take it that it doesn't involve a mummy Darkspawn and a daddy Darkspawn?"

"Not in the way you mean." Hendel replied. "If they can capture a female of any race, they take them into the Deep Roads, to an isolated cave. Then they force-feed the women Darkspawn flesh and blood, as well as the flesh of other victims.

"The women become tainted. More than that – they change. Change into what we call Brood-Mothers. Hideous, bloated travesties of womanhood, rooted to the rock, always hungry, and producing litter after litter, according to their kind."

"Is that why there are different kinds of Darkspawn?" Killian asked.

Hendel nodded. "The short, stocky ones we call Genlocks come from Dwarf Brood-Mothers. The taller ones – Hurlocks -from Human ones. Elvish Brood-Mothers produce Sharlocks, or Shrieks, and a Qunari woman is a special prize -they breed Ogres.

"Most surface-dwellers don't know all this, except some Grey Wardens, and Duncan never mentioned it to any of the others. We were called to Ostagar too soon after the Joining for us to be taught much. But we Dwarfs have been at constant war with the Darkspawn for centuries, and we know more about them than any other race.

"Now Wynne isn't a young woman, and she's a mage, so they'll just kill her, if they can. But Leliana is a prize they'll want to take. The thing is, I've dealt with a Brood-Mother before, and despite the taint, despite the instinct that forced her to eat and breed, she remembered what she had been and hated what she was. I want you to promise me you'll spare Leliana that, if it comes to it. Cormac and Alistair wouldn't be able to do it. They don't have it in them, they'll always be looking for a way to win or escape. You're experienced enough to know when there's no way out, and hardened enough to do what's necessary.

"Do I have your word, my friend?"

"You do." Killian said.

The farewells, in the courtyard in the dark before dawn, were subdued. Everyone knew that Killian would not be coming back, whatever happened. Typically laconic, Hendel merely grasped his hand and said: "Ancestors watch over you." Elana kissed him on both cheeks and told him: "We will not forget you. Creators guide your path." Morrigan remarked; "I am no sentimentalist, but go well, Killian." Then she gave herself the lie by hugging him tightly. Zevran hugged him too, pounding his back: "I shall miss you, Warden." He said. "We work well together, no?" Even Shale said farewell, after a fashion: "I hope it finds what it seeks, and is not too disappointed when it does."

"Right!" Cormac said. "We'll meet up again at Soldiers' Peak. Levi and his people are going to clean the place up for us, and get some supplies together. I've told Arl Eamon to send messages there when he's ready to call the Landsmeet.

"Good luck, everyone!"

While they had been gone, winter had crept up from the south and engulfed Ostagar in snow. The old ruin might have looked impressive under its white blanket in the cold winter sunshine, were it not for the remains of burned pavilions and tents, and the ugly scars of crude barricades that closed off certain areas.

The three Grey Wardens shared a glance. Rufus, the mabari hound, flattened his ears and growled angrily.

"Quite a few, but not as many as I'd feared." Cormac commented.

"I'd have thought they'd have left a strong force here." Killian remarked. "It's the only major route out of the Wilds into Ferelden, they'd want to guard their supply and reinforcement lines, surely?"

Alistair shook his head. "The Darkspawn don't need supplies. They eat what they kill, remember? As to reinforcements, they prefer to travel underground. There were at least four Dwarf thaigs in, or under, the hinterlands north of here. They used to have access to the surface for trade, but when the Darkspawn conquered them, the people on the surface sealed them off. They've probably dug them out now and are reinforcing through them."

They soon discovered that the barricades were not set at random, but designed to channel and funnel them into the waiting arms of Darkspawn squads. Unfortunately for the Darkspawn, all of the party except Leliana held bitter, angry memories of this place, and were in no mood to be intimidated or overcome. Leliana was fighting beside and for the man she loved, so she was the fiercest of them all.

They had just overcome one group, led by a larger and tougher Genlock than most. Killian paused to look around while the others picked over the corpses. Alistair gave a cry of triumph and Killian turned to see him holding up a pair of gilded steel greaves.

"They were in the Alphas' pack." He said. "They belonged to Cailan, part of his armour."

"Good." Killian said. "It's a start. Cormac, do you remember this place?"

"Oh, Maker!" Cormac said. "This where we did the Joining, isn't it? With poor Daveth and that idiot Ser Jory? It seems a lifetime ago!"

"Thus the penalties of age." Wynne remarked. "I helped prepare that Joining, but to me it seems only a little time past. We were all a little younger, then."

"Except you." Alistair told her. "You've always been old!"

"With lip like that, son," she responded tartly, "you'll be lucky to live to half my age!"

They carried on, threading the Darkspawn-created maze, killing as they went and recovering more parts of Cailans' armour. Clearly the main horde had not stopped to loot, but those left to guard Ostagar had picked up what they could. Shininess seemed to be more important to them than value or usefulness.

Eventually, they found their way to the place where Cailans' pavilion had once stood. Nearby, just as Elric Maraigne had told them, they found a statue, and behind it a loose stone that concealed a heavy, complex key. Cailans' chest was also exactly where Elric had told them. It was marked, as if the Darkspawn had tried to force it, but intact.

Inside, they found a magnificent longsword which had belonged to King Maric. It fitted Alistairs' hand as perfectly as Yusaris had fitted Cormacs'.

"If any more proof of your birthright were needed, Alistair," Leliana stated, "this is surely it!"

Alistair sighed. "Looks like I'm stuck with it, then!" He took the veridium longsword he'd been using and handed it to Killian. "You might as well have this." He said. "It's stronger than Oathkeeper, and won't need sharpening as often."

The true object of their search, Cailans' private papers, were in a compartment let into the thick sides of the chest.

"So it's true!" Cormac noted. "Cailan was set to make a permanent peace and alliance with Orlais. No wonder Loghain was angry -he'd have seen this as a betrayal of everything he and Maric fought for!"

"There is more than that, it seems." Wynne was looking at other papers, letters. "Here is a letter from Arl Eamon in which he asks Cailan to consider divorcing Queen Anora. She was some years older than her husband, and had failed to produce an heir. Some of the Landsmeet were anxious that Cailan should put her aside and take a younger, more fertile Queen.

"All politics aside, Loghain must have been anxious to protect his daughter."

"And the place in the Kings' council he held as the Queens' father." Killian remarked cynically. "At any rate, we still don't have everything we came for, and I for one want to clean this place of Darkspawn before I leave!"

They had entered Ostagar from the west, skirting the edge of the Korcari Wilds. Now they made their way south, to the bridge which led to the Tower of ishal. It was half-way across this bridge that they came across a sight as heart-rending as it was dreadful.

The stripped body of King Cailan had been crucified on a rough scaffold built from the remains of siege engines. He looked as if he had died only hours before, but the places where Darkspawn arrows, apparently shot for amusement, had pierced him did not bleed. At the foot of the scaffold, Duncans' body had been placed in a sitting position, his severed head in his lap.

Rufus lifted his muzzle and emitted a long, mournful howl. Alistair said nothing, tears streaming down his face. Leliana prayed quietly, a sob in her voice.

"Maker!" Cormac said. "it's been weeks! How could he be so..."

"Intact?" Wynne said quietly. "The Darkspawn have mages among them also. Doubtless they have been preserved by magic, as a taunt, a warning, or a gloat."

Then more Darkspawn charged from the direction of the Tower, and mourning had to be put aside for a while.

They fought their way into the Tower, meeting here for the first time the Darkspawn known as Shrieks, or Sharlocks. Thin, gangly creatures, physically frail but terrible in stealth, speed and agility, wielding bone blades that grew from their arms and were poisoned with their own tainted blood.

This time, instead of climbing the Tower, whose upper floors were clearly in ruins, the party went down into the tunnels the Darkspawn had used to infiltrate Ostagar on that terrible day. Encountering Darkspawn patrols and giant spiders corrupted with the taint, they made their way out into the open, finding the tunnel mouth just as Hendel had described it.

Mercifully, the snow had covered the worst of the battlefield, but there was still an air of desolation. A keen, cutting wind blew out of the Wild and made their breath steam as they talked.

"So this is where it all happened." Alistair said. "I still can't shake the feeling I should have been here."

"Me neither." Cormac told him. "But we'd only have died like the rest, unless we'd got lucky like Hendel and Elana. Flemeth was only able to reach us because we were on top of that tower, and it looks like she made a royal mess of the place getting us out!"

"Where were you, Wynne?" Killian asked.

She pointed to where the rocky sides of the pass loomed up and narrowed toward the ancient ramparts and gate of Ostagar. "We mages were placed on the ridges of the pass, and on the ramparts. Our task was to watch for Darkspawn magic and counter it. I saw the whole thing.

"The Kings' forces were gathered in the pass, waiting. Then the Darkspawn came out of the woods in their thousands. Far more than anyone had anticipated. They did not form up, they simply charged in one vast mass. Cailan waited until they were well within range, then signalled the archers. Volley after volley of flaming arrows, but for every Darkspawn that fell, there were a dozen others. Then the hounds were unleashed, but even they could not slow the charge.

"The plan was to stop the horde at the mouth of the pass, so that Loghain could flank them, and so Cailan led the charge, sooner than was planned. The horde was too vast, there was no hope of victory. But if Loghain had responded to the signal, there would have been a chance to retreat, to gain the walls, to hold the fortress. But Loghain never came, and the King was surrounded, his men butchered. I and some of the other mages made our way back to the fortress to try and rescue the wounded and civilians -the Templars helped us."

She fell silent, shaking her head. Killian shrugged. "If they'd known how big the horde was, they'd probably have decided just to hold the pass. Those ramparts and the tower, properly manned, could have held for days if not weeks while reinforcements were brought up."

"It is ironic, in a way." Leliana said. "But if King Cailan had succeeded in finalising an alliance with Orlais, the original plan might well have succeeded. We Fereldans fight on foot, but a charge on the Darkspawn flank by a thousand armoured and mounted Orlesian _chevaliers c_ ould have achieved what was originally intended."

Then a figure came out of the pass. A Genlock, but bizarrely rigged out in armour made of human bones, with a skull for a helmet. It made a series of gestures, and suddenly something erupted from the snow. Half-frozen, half-rotted, stinking of decay and with the blades that had killed it still thrust into its chest, something that had once been an Ogre bore down on them.

As the Genlock continued to gesture, Wynne unleashed a bolt of magic that knocked it off its feet, before darting forward at a speed that belied her age to engage the thing in a bitter magical duel. Leliana dashed to a spur of rock nearby, scrambled up it and began firing arrows at the Genlock. The three swordsmen engaged the Ogre.

Attacked on two sides and unable to summon more corpses, the Genlock necromancer seemed to send a new command to the Ogre corpse. The thing tried to disengage from the Grey Wardens, attempting to attack Wynne. The three men were not going to let that happen, however. The dead beast was immune to pain, and refused to die again, despite several lethal thrusts. So the men changed tactics, aiming to cripple the monster. Horribly, with its legs hacked from under it and one arm useless, it was still trying to drag itself toward Wynne when its master went down, wrapped in flame from Wynne's staff and with one of Lelianas' arrows buried in its throat. The Ogre finally collapsed and was still.

Alistair immediately tried to turn the beast over. Killian and Cormac helped, without asking why. Once they were done, he pulled the sword and dagger out of its chest.

"These belonged to Duncan." He said. "Killing this brute was probably the last thing he did. I'm taking these back to Soldiers' Peak, we can set them up in the Great Hall there in his honour."

Wynne approached and handed Alistair a gilded steel helm. "The last piece of Cailans, armour." She said. "It's been a long day, Alistair. You look almost as old as I am!"

"And you, my lady, look younger every day!" He replied with a grin.

"Be careful who you flirt with, young man!" She told him. "When you wake up beside me tomorrow, you'll be back to thinking of me as your grandmother!"

"Wake up beside you...?" He spluttered.

She laughed merrily. "What? It wouldn't be the first time I've woken to a younger man in my bed!"

"Are all women as evil and conniving as you when they get older?" He asked.

"Just me, dear." She assured him. "Just me."

They went back to the bridge. The bodies there were clearly no longer preserved, whatever magic had kept them had died with its caster. They now looked like day-old corpses. They took Cailan down, and carried him and Duncan to the woods, where they built pyres of dead wood and cremated them both.

Then they returned, one last time, to the fortress. The air already seemed cleaner, and the wind had died down, but the sky had darkened, promising more snow soon. They went to the old temple, where the Joining had been performed.

"The snow here is well-packed enough to hold the Glyph." Killian said, then spotted something half-buried. He dug it out, a simple silver chalice, bearing the griffon badge of the Grey Wardens.

"The Joining Chalice!" Alistair exclaimed. "I thought that was lost forever. It's very old, it was brought from Weisshaupt when the Wardens were first allowed back into Ferelden."

"You'll be needing this," Killian handed it to him, "when the time comes to rebuild the Order here."

Then he drew the Glyph in the snow, as he had done so many weeks ago in Storybrooke.

"I suppose this is goodbye, then." Cormac said.

"Not for good." Killian said. "I'm a Grey Warden, I'll have to come back sometime, if I live long enough. Avernus told me about the Calling."

Cormac nodded. "Maybe in thirty years time or so, we'll meet again in Orzammar, then. Go down into the Deep Roads for one last battle and be entombed among the Legion of the Dead."

"I can think of worse ways to go." Killian allowed.

"Any more sage advice until then?" Alistair asked.

"Be true to yourselves and to each other." Killian told them. "That way, you'll win even if you lose."

He clasped hands with both of them.

Then Wynne came forward, taking his hand in both of hers and kissing him on both cheeks. "Farewell, Killian Jones. You are a man of worth and valour, let none tell you otherwise."

Leliana bowed her head and raised her hand toward him. "Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker," She chanted. "Blessed art thou who seeks His forgiveness. Blessed art thou who awaits His return. May the Chant of Light carry thy name to the ears of Andraste, that She may intercede for thee."

Then she flung herself into his arms and hugged him tight, kissing his cheek. "Be safe, my friend."

Rufus bounded forward. Rearing up, he placed his great paws on the staggering Killians' shoulders and drenched his face with an affectionate, if rather rank, swipe of his tongue.

Then it was done. Killian poured the lyrium carefully into the Glyph, saluted his friends one more time, and stepped through.

Once again, he was in the Fade, and ahead of him the towering armoured figure of Sepiriz, the Warrior in Jet and Gold, waited.


	12. Epilogue

**In Search of Tranquility**

 **Epilogue**

 _We are standing on the edge  
On the edge of time  
We are the warriors at the edge of time _

_(Hawkwind)_

They had asked the Dwarves to keep an eye on the glyph in the woods, so it was Grumpy who brought the message that it had begun to glow. Regina, Emma, Henry and Sirius made their way there at once.

No sooner had they arrived than a figure emerged out of the purple haze that had surrounded the glyph. The clothing was unfamiliar – mediaeval-looking boiled leather armour – he had a long, curved blade slung at his back and carried a larger pack than he had left with, but it was undoubtedly Killian.

Emma flung herself at him, hugging and kissing him hard, before stepping back and punching him in the shoulder with some venom.

"Don't you _ever_ ," she commanded, "go off like that again without telling me!"

"No promises." He told her with a grin. "But right now we don't have much time. Mr Black, glad you're here."

"Captain Jones." Sirius acknowledged. "I take it that this is my exit from this land without magic?"

"Yes, it is." Killian said. "But not to home, I'm afraid."

"I'm beginning to understand that." Sirius allowed. "Still, purpose is better than aimless wandering."

"You'll need these." Killian handed him the wooden box. "You need to open it here, or nothing will work."

Sirius set the box on the ground and crouched in front of it to open it. The first item he drew out was the cat-headed stave obtained from Solomon Kane. As Sirius examined it, a huge shower of red and gold sparks fountained out of the end.

"Jupiter!" Sirius exclaimed. "I've never seen such a powerful wand!" He set it aside and took out the next item, the compass, which he seemed to understand. Then came the knife, carefully wrapped with the instructions:

 _The Knife has been reforged_ , Sirius read, _and will take less than it used to. But it must still be blooded. If you have the phylactery, place it on the wound. If you don't, then do not unwrap the Knife._

Sirius reached into the box again, and took out the phylactery, which he placed on the ground within easy reach. Then he unwrapped the knife. As soon as the blade was free, it seemed to twist or slip in his hand, opening a long but shallow gash across his palm. Quickly, he picked up the phylactery and placed it on the wound. At the touch of his blood, the glass dissolved and the liquid inside blended with the blood. The wound closed at once, and when Sirius looked up, they saw sudden understanding in his eyes.

"So that's how it's done!" He murmured. "So simple, but it escaped us for centuries!"

Then he reached into the box again, and pulled out the _krill_ of Loric. As he held it up in front of him, the clear gem suddenly filled with a fierce golden glow. The dull edges were suddenly razor-keen and the blade radiated heat. Then Sirius relaxed and gem and blade were dull again.

Sirius put the compass in a pocket, then carefully re-wrapped the Subtle Knife and placed it in another one. Finally, he stood up, thrust the _krill_ through his belt and took up the stave.

"Time to go." He said. " Captain Jones, my compliments. Henry, keep reading. Ms Swan, take care of him. Regina, thank you for your... _hospitality._ "

Then he stepped into the glyph and was gone.

"Man of few words, that one." Emma commented.

"I'm not sure he knows very many." Regina responded. "His non-verbal skills, however, are another matter!"

Killian considered them with his new perceptions. Regina stood on a knife-edge; her taint had all but consumed her at one point, and only a stubborn capacity for love had held it off. Now she was fighting back, he saw, fighting to retain some of her self and regain more.

Emma, on the other hand, was still mostly free. But the difficulties of her past life, the hard choices she had made, had left some taint in her. The magical powers she had discovered were another problem. Mages were vulnerable, Killian now knew, and neither of these woman truly understood the danger they were in.

Henry seemed completely free, for now. But as he grew up, as he came to face grimmer, more difficult decisions, that might change.

"Earth to Killian?" Emma was saying. "You in there?"

He shook his head and grinned at her. "Sorry, Swan. A lot happened to me while I was away, and I'm still processing it. But they didn't have coffee there, so let's go and get some!"

They turned to go, but Killian lingered a moment, inhaling the air. There was something out there. Like the taint, but not quite the same. Dangerous, yes, but not without hope of becoming something better.

"C'mon, Killian!" Henry called. "Let's go home!"

Home? He supposed Storybrooke could be a home, but...Overhead, unseen and unheard by the others, a great white bird circled high in the air, uttering a lonely cry full of the crash of waves and the tang of salt air. A cry that found an answer in Killians' own heart.

Sirius Black passed through the portal into the familiar indefinite landscape of the Fade. He was aware now that the time behind him had been simply waiting, that his past life was no more than preparation. His true journey began here and now.

Ahead of him, a big man in black and gold armour beckoned. A deep voice, made hollow by the helm, said: "Come, Sirius Black, we have much to do."


End file.
